Stutter and Stumble
by sparkley-tangerine
Summary: Oct.31,1981 Harry Potter's parents died one tragic night at the hand of Lord Voldemort. No one questioned it. 23 years later, Harry's beginning to find that jumping to conclusions wasn't the best idea- he gets the feeling John Winchester would agree DWHP
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was my entry into the sn_cross community's Supernatural Crossover Big Bang Challenge.

WARNING: This is SLASH. That means male/male romance. Don't like? Don't read.

Since this site cuts off the summaries here is the proper one.

Summary: _On October 31st, 1981 Harry Potter's parents died in one tragic and unforgettable night at the hand of Voldemort. No one questioned it, there was no other possible suspects for such a crime. Twenty-three years later, Harry's beginning to find that maybe jumping to conclusions wasn't the brightest idea and he gets the feeling that maybe this John Winchester would agree.  
_

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW, Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and WB. Nothing belongs to me. *tear*

* * *

Stutter and Stumble: Part One

"Well?"

Harry Potter sat anxiously on the edge of his cot in the _Hospital Wing_, the broken ends of his phoenix feather wand clenched tightly in his right hand. Madam Pomfrey looked at him bleakly.

"I'm sorry Harry- I can't seem to get a clear magical reading of you at all."

The young wizard shook his head in a panic. "What does that even mean?"

The medi-witch took a seat across him from, gently taking his trembling hands in hers. The sharp ends of holly prickled against her skin as she rubbed her favourite student's knuckles.

"I've only ever come across something like this in muggles who have been known to harbor preternatural gifts- psychics if you will- or…"

"Or what?" Harry prompted when she trailed off, knowing the answer but desperately hoping it wasn't true.

"Or in squibs." Pomfrey admitted, her eyes tearing up as she watched the young man before her tremble harder and bow his head in grief.

Harry felt like he had lost a part of himself with those words; as if a vital piece of _Harry_ had been stripped away. His magic was more than just a bunch of wand-waving and Latin chanting. It was the only real connection Harry had to his parents anymore.

And now, Voldemort had taken that away too.

"But in the Great Hall-" Harry straightened up, sniffling. "I used magic then."

Pomfrey nodded sadly. "A simple Disarming Charm, dear. I doubt you could do it again if you tried."

Harry wiped his cheeks dry, ashamed to have shed any tears in front of the witch. "How did I lose it though? I mean, it's _my_ magic."

The medi-witch sighed. "I have a theory about that and it stands very much on how you defeated V-Voldemort the night he killed your parents." Poppy waited for a nod to continue. "I believe that, much in the same way you 'killed' Voldemort that night, he killed you. Instead of destroying your soul, he blew out most of your magic." She paused suddenly contemplating something. "Or perhaps he simply destroyed the force within you that allows your magic to be controlled and focused into a wand."

Harry perked up. "Could it be fixed?"

"No, darling. You're magical reserves may fluctuate but you'll never be a full-blown wizard again."

The Boy Who Lived sat silently under her gaze before McGonagall knocked on the door and broke the silence.

"Potter, the press wants to know if you've made a decision on accepting the Minister position until a vote can make it official. Or are you opting to try for Headmaster?"

Harry sighed to himself, pocketing the pieces of Harry the wizard quickly and following his former-professor out the door.

The Wizarding World, it seemed, was determined to never give him any peace.

* * *

Minister of Magic. Headmaster of Hogwarts. Head Auror. Greatest Wizard to Ever Live. Squib. Muggle. Half-Blood. Weak.

Titles and taunts swirled around Harry's mind, constant and unending and he wanted nothing to do with either of them. He'd disliked anything to do with the Ministry since his Second Year and Rufus Scrimgeour was looking more and more murderous with each passing day. It was best if Harry stayed away from any sort of Ministry position.

Minerva McGonagall was still more than willing to forge him high enough marks to get into the Auror Program if he wanted to pursue that kind of career. Wizards and witches alike were grateful enough to ignore the fact that The Chosen One had skived off his last year at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts… the castle hadn't felt like home ever since Dumbledore had tumbled from the top of the Astronomy tower and cracked into a million little pieces of lies and betrayals. It didn't help to know that his death, the whole war, had all been in vain. Pure blood was pure blood- their world hadn't changed.

Harry couldn't stay there anymore, not knowing he'd never leave Hogwarts with a certificate of Graduation; that he'd never leave and find Remus and Tonks and Sirius waiting for him; he'd never leave with Ron on his left and Hermione on his right because they were _together_ now and he'd never want to get in the way.

It didn't help that Ron wouldn't look at him nowadays- with two of his brothers dead, three maimed and his mother locked up in between Lockhart and the Longbottoms in St. Mungos. Hermione was sympathetic but Harry could see the tiniest flash of resentment in her gaze as well; the '_my parents won't be at my wedding because I stood beside you'_ that no one seemed to talk about.

He'd left his godson, Teddy Lupin, in the capable hands of his grandmother Andromeda. His hair was bright pink and curly as he looked up into his godfather's eyes and Harry saw no trace of Tonks or Remus in him. It was easier that way, leaving him here, and it seemed that Harry was going be the kind of godfather Sirius Black had been to him after all- absent and never truly known.

"Give him this, when he's old enough to understand." He'd told the only family his godson had left. "And if you ever need to contact me, leave a message at Gringott's. I'll get it."

Andromeda didn't ask why or where Harry was going and he didn't offer to tell.

Five weeks after Voldemort's demise, Harry packed his things and left Hogwarts for good.

Only Neville Longbottom tried to stop him.

"They can't see how much they need you yet." He'd said softly, understanding what the small rucksack on his friend's back meant. "Give them time to heal and things will get better- we won."

Harry pulled out the two halves of his broken wand, gripping them tightly in each hand. "What do you think that really means, Neville? We won. Do you feel like you've won anything?"

The other Prophecy-Child blinked at his tone, clueless but determined to understand anyway. He was just another person hoping Harry would save them, really.

"You can't just leave us like this- leaderless and scattered. We need a hero-"

"What about what _I_ need?" Harry shouted, his voice echo-ing down the stone hallway. "I've given you everything, _everything_ and you still ask for more."

The Gryffindor scowled, throwing the scars on his face into sharp relief. "I fought this war just as much as you did, Harry Potter."

"You think staying here, taking your lumps makes you a hero?" Harry asked darkly. "You think getting that hat crammed onto your head makes you special? I _died_ that night; I died for every last one of you and nobody seems to care about what that means."

Neville's eyes were wide and dark in the shadows. He looked so young, like maybe the world hadn't touched him yet. Harry would say he missed the feeling himself, but he'd never been that pure before.

"We-we didn't know," he stammered, suddenly not so self-assured and mighty. "Harry, we….we just didn't know."

He was tired of this, of people never knowing when he was hurt. Harry put the pieces of his wand away, pulling his pack farther up on his shoulders. "You never asked."

Neville didn't try to stop him this time, looking pale and insubstantial in the torchlight. Harry paused at the end of the hallway, still feeling connected to the boy who could very well have been him, in another time and place.

"You need hero then stop waiting to be saved; stand up and be one."

* * *

MISSING: HARRY POTTER HAS DISAPPEARED FROM HOGWARTS! Where is our Chosen One? By: Dennis Creevey

PEACE RESTORED: A HERO TRAVELS TO VALKYRIE. The truth about the origin of Harry James Potter and his return to his own dimension. By: Luna Lovegood

_Dear Madam Pomfrey, _

_I know this letter might come to you a bit of a shock, but I feel that you are the only one who can possibly understand what has been taken from me. You're the only one who knows about my magic, and I beg of you to keep it a secret. It is nobody's business but my own._

_I've left Hogwarts- probably Britain if I'm in the mind for it. I can't watch all I've fought for and against fall under the same foolish beliefs as before. Now that I've done my part, it's up to the Wizarding world to change. _

_I just need to find my own place now. I won't be back. _

_All my love,_

_Harry_

Harry was halfway across the Atlantic on a non-stop flight to Boston by the time anyone realized he was missing

* * *

He was eighteen in America, not old enough to drink but old enough to drive and the first thing he did, after discovering a deep-seated loathing for the public transit system, was buy a his self a car.

A 1991 Pontiac Sunbird Convertible. Two doors. A man down in Burwell, Nebraska sold it to him cheap. It's silvery-blue paint job and bright white top was quite possibly the ugliest thing Harry had ever seen.

He absolutely loved it.

The bartender down in Sierra Vista, Arizona told him he didn't look a day over twelve before plopping down a chilled bottle of the best brew he had. When Harry had quirked an eyebrow at him, the grizzled old man had muttered something about old souls needing the bottle more than most.

Until that moment, the closest thing Harry had ever tried to actual alcohol was a shot of Firewhiskey at Bill Weasley's Bachelor Party. Butterbeer was good when he'd been a mere student, but it had the alcoholic equivalent of cough syrup.

He was drunk in twenty minutes.

The music was low and drawn out, like it was underwater, and people swam across his vision like bizarre schools of overgrown fish. Harry sat back on his stool- that had to broken because it didn't sway like that when he'd first sat down- and giggled aimlessly at the bar light and the swirls of people on the dance floor.

Jimmy, the barkeep, took his keys after the second beer.

"Jesus kid if I'd have known you were such a light weight I'd have given you a coke."

Harry smiled at him, goofy and bright. "Itssss, alrigh. I fee'eel goooood. Haven't felt gooood ina lo-ong time." Something felt off with his tongue. Huh.

Time passed quickly, and a pretty girl with an apron kept handing him drinks with a small smile on her lips. It wasn't long before his good mood turned sour.

"I'ma wizzzzard." He told anyone who would listen. "Well, I wuz. Then I losh my magic and now…. I'm not."

Jimmy seemed to find him amusing. "Do a magic trick then?"

Harry frowned at him, his lips pushed out way too far. He looked like a pouting twelve year old. "_I caaaan't_. Volmer-Volder-Voldie- _You-Know-Who _blasted it out of me."

Jimmy blinked at him, his hand still rubbing at the stained bar. "No, I don't know who."

The ex-wizard huffed in frustration and left. Harry wasn't going to stay there if people were going to make fun of him, he thought with just the right amount drunken dignity. It wasn't a terribly long walk to his motel room anyway.

It figured that the first time Harry decided to drink his problems away, he'd run into a full-blown vengeful spirit.

It was well past midnight, the sky dark and moonless, when the shrill-scream startled the young man from his alcoholic mumblings. He whipped around to find the danger and tripped on a loose stone in his path. The ground was hard and cold against his face.

Harry hated everything.

The shrill scream came again, this time tinged with a hint of pain. Harry felt that familiar thrill of _something_ in his blood, pushing away the alcohol and the despair and filling it with the knowledge that this was important. He could do something about the screaming.

A bunch of kids were crowded around an old, ramshackle house, banging on doors and windows and adding to the horrible screams coming from inside. The tinkle of broken glass could be heard over the shouts.

"Amy! Amy!" One blond-haired teen was calling over and over again. He kind of reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy. This was not going to be fun.

"What'sss wrong?" he tried to ask, his tongue tripping over itself. Damn, he really could have gone for a Sobering Charm right now. Blood-curdling screams would have to do.

Malfoy-kid and his three friends startled, staring at Harry as if he was a damned ghost or something.

"My girlfriend. She went- we dared her to go into the house and now she can't get out and something's in there, man and-"

Harry blinked and put up a hand to stop the kid. He swayed for a second, feeling nauseous. "Why would there be something in the house?"

"Because it's haunted, dumbass." The mouse-haired girl on Malfoy-kid's left said snidely. That seemed to be the cue for everyone to start banging on the door like an idiot again. Harry let out a long-suffering sigh and staggered over to the nearest window on the other side of the house. It was frosted from the inside out, which was weird beyond belief.

He picked up a huge rock and beat the glass out of the window, slicing one of his fingers open by mistake. Harry really needed to work on his heroic rescue attempts it seemed.

The screams were louder now, God damn it.

Harry hit each corner until all the glass littered the ground and with a groan of weariness, pulled himself into the house, head first.

It was fucking cold.

The girlfriend was curled up into a ball, under the massive pool table as lamps, books, chairs, pool balls and paintings were tossed around the room by an unseen force.

A book smashed into the top of Harry's head, awakening him from his dazed disbelief. What in the hell was going on here? A poltergeist? The former wizard felt more than a bit out of his element; mostly because he was more than sure this little ghostie wouldn't harbor a fear of the Bloody Baron or the late Albus Dumbledore.

Avoiding the cascade of books and things thrown his way, Harry crawled across the floor towards the girl still screaming under the pool table. He reached out, grabbed her arm, and had to dodge a sudden battery of flailing limbs. The screaming grew louder.

She landed an elbow to his chin- his teeth clicking together painfully- before Harry could pull her from the safety of the table and get her to look at him.

"Shut up!" He yelled, dragging her across the floor. "I'm trying to help you."

They reached the window slowly, Harry stopping every now and then to cover the hysterical girl with his body when the books and lamps came a bit too close for comfort.

He was going to be black and blue in the morning.

An unfamiliar man was halfway in the window when Harry pulled the girl to her feet and pushed them both back out to safety. They fell to the ground with a hard, flat smack and

Harry grinned at the sudden rush of curses even as he dropped to the floor to avoid another volley of books and paintings. He'd never thought he'd have missed Peeves- ever.

"Get out of here!" The man was yelling, waving his sawed off shotgun around wildly.

The kids were tripping over themselves, shouting at each other and crying as they made their escape. Harry pulled himself up onto the windowsill as the mysterious man turned back around to face him.

"Thank-" The ex-wizard began, throwing his leg out the window when something hot-cold and painful sunk into his shoulders and pulled him back into the house.

Harry hit the far bookcase with a crack, bouncing off the floor. His head swam as the faint imprint of a young girl, no older than himself, hissed at him from across the room. Her skin was pale- the unhealthy kind of pale too- but the criss-cross of bloody cuts all up her arms and the huge stains of blood on her ragged dress gave away the fact that she wasn't anywhere near alive.

Her fingers were long and pointed and covered in Harry's blood. He could feel the deep, oozing hole in his shoulders where the thing-the girl? - had grabbed him.

She shuffled towards him, malevolence clear in her eyes as the blast of a shotgun going off sounded behind her. He flinched.

Harry felt his mouth drop open in surprise as the dead girl scattered into a cloud of dust.

The man in the window re-cocked the gun and glared at Harry.

"Move it kid. I don't know how long that'll keep her down."

Harry didn't have to be told twice.

Papers started swirling around the floor as he stumbled across the room and launched himself out the window. The man grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

"Get out of here."

Harry swayed in the moonlight and said, "No, not until you tell me what in the hell just happened. You killed that thing. Whatever that thing was."

The man rolled his eyes, pulling them both farther away from the house.

"I didn't kill her- she's a ghost, a vengeful spirit. Rock salt slows them down but it doesn't stop them for good. I need to salt and burn her bones before she hurts anyone else."

That made a surprising amount of sense to Harry. Neville had knocked over the saltshaker at the Welcoming Feast during their Third Year and completely doused Nearly-Headless Nick. The Gryffindor Ghost had disappeared in a puff of smoke and to this day, refused to sit anywhere near Neville when there was condiments about.

The ghost appeared in the broken window, screaming insanely at them as the other man blasted her with rock salt again.

"Damn it, she's a fast little bitch." He said, reloading quickly. Harry turned to stare at him, eyes wide.

"You regularly shoot ghosts with salt or were all the other hobbies at the mental institute taken?"

The man smirked at him. "I'm a hunter, kid. This is the only thing I do."

The hunter- whatever that meant- turned away, heading back towards the house. The muscles in Harry's back protested as he tried to catch up with him.

"Hey, do you perhaps need some help with your ghost hunting?"

The man paused in his trek, giving Harry a surprised look.

"Most people are running in the other direction when they see a ghost, kid. It's the smart thing to do."

The ex-wizard shrugged, ignoring the screaming sharp pain in his back. "I don't scare easily…and the thing you used- the rock salt- is there more to ghost hunting than that?"

The hunter seemed to be studying him, weighing his worth and such, making Harry vaguely wish he hadn't drank so much earlier. There was a noticeable difference in the man's eyes when he spoke.

"What's your name, kid? You don't look a day over fourteen."

He made a face at that. Stupid height made him look like a pre-pubescent. "Harry. I'm eighteen."

The man gestured with his gun. "Harry have a last name?"

The teen shook his head quickly. "Just Harry."

The man let out a soft bark of laughter. "Well, I'm Caleb. It's good to know a man's name when your hunting with him- gives me something to put on the tombstone when the night is through."

Harry hoped his was kidding.

Caleb crossed to the Jeep he had parked in the driveway, opening the trunk and pulling out two shovels and another shotgun. He tossed one of each to Harry.

"Come on, kid. I ain't got all night."

Harry caught both the gun and the shovel- still a Seeker no matter what- and made to follow his new teacher. He politely didn't mention he had no idea how to shoot a shotgun.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

Please, R&R!

~S. Tangerine


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Six years later and the Sunbird still looked like the ugliest piece of crap to ever grace the open road but Harry was more than able to kick the ass of anyone who suggested scraping her.

Caleb was usually his only victim.

Hill City, Kansas was the location; three gruesome murders putting it on the Hunter's map with enough suspicion that Caleb decided his could handle a couple of black dogs on his own, and maybe Harry should get his skinny butt down there, pronto.

Caleb always was a controlling tight-ass.

"Let's just hope you don't have to shoot anything," he muttered, remembering their first hunt together. Harry pulled a rude hand gesture, packing extra guns and ammo just for spite.

"I'm not the one who gave an inexperienced man a shotgun and hoped he'd know how to use it."

Caleb scowled at him. "Most people say 'Hey, I can't shoot this thing' whenever they're handed a gun they, you know, _can't use_."

"Would you have let me come with you if I'd told you I couldn't shoot a gun?"

The older hunter huffed, knowing his friend was right. "It's a good thing I only call you up when I need some back-up- I'd go crazy if we worked together all the time."

Harry pocketed the two pieces of his wand- more of a habit than anything else- and slammed the trunk closed with a grin. "Yeah, people think you're a pedophile enough as it is."

Caleb threw his hands up in the air. "That's only because _you_ look like a twelve year old."

Harry laughed loudly, getting in behind the wheel. It was way too much fun, riling up his friend. He remembered with glee and a bit of aggravation the look on Ellen's face when Caleb had walked into her bar with Harry in tow. Her eyebrows had migrated almost up into her hairline before she'd said, "Fuck, Morrison. I don't think he's even _legal._"

Caleb tapped on the window, his face serious. Harry rolled down the glass with a roll of his eyes.

"Call me if you need help. Don't be an idiot and try to handle something too big for you kid. That'll only get you killed."

Harry pulled a besotted face, batting his eyelashes and smiling brightly. "Aw, you do care. Caleb!" He began to reach out the window, trying to pull his friend into a hug. The other hunter batted his hands away, his expression dark.

"I hate you," he declared petulantly. "Go away, asshole. I'll meet you at the Roadhouse in about a week."

Harry nodded, starting up the car and pulling out onto the road. He glanced back at his friend's reflection in the rearview mirror for a moment, struck with the notion that this was the last time he'd ever see the prickly hunter.

The reflection blurred as a white-hot bolt of pain zipped across Harry's temples. He looked away, his hand searching for the bottle of Tylenol he kept stuffed in the glove compartment.

The pain receded, but the weird feeling that something bad was just along to horizon stayed. Harry shook his head and concentrated on the road.

He'd be seeing Caleb again soon.

* * *

Hill City was….kind of small.

The main road was a two-line stripe of pot-holed asphalt and faded yellow and white paint. The whole town had two irrelevant stop signs and if there had ever been an accident in Hill City because someone forgot to stop, Harry would eat his broken wand.

He could feel the eyes of most of the town on him, as he pulled his car up to the gas station. Harry had hoped that leaving Britain and the Wizarding World behind had meant an absence of 'awe-filled and/or suspicious stares' but muggle America was proving to out-do even Mad-Eye Moody with their creepy paranoia.

The pump was locked- the clerk peering out over the displays to glower at Harry fiercely. He probably had a shotgun in the corner, just to scare off the local bad boys who tried to pump and dash.

Thinking about it, a rash of murders would have been enough to turn any small American town into a cloud of suspicion and surliness. They were probably wary of any kind of outsiders right now.

Looking down at his travel-wrinkled clothing, Harry sighed. Or they just thought he was a twelve year old who had highjacked a car. Being short sucked.

The store was just a tiny as the town, the cash decorated with cigarette packs, gum, candy, chocolate bars and Twinkies. An Ice Box was pushed into the far corner while fridges lined the back of the store, filled with beer, soda pop, energy drinks, juice and milk. A small selection of pre-made submarine sandwiches and little containers of potato salads were displayed openly on the refrigerated shelf beside the checkout.

Harry grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper and a pack of cola gummies, plopping them down on the counter with a grin. "And 30 on pump two, please."

There were only two pumps to begin with but it was better to be as specific as possible with people, lest it come back to bite him in the ass later.

The man clicked his teeth, hitting the register buttons like they were about to jump up and bite his face off. "$36.91"

Harry pulled out a wad of cash, not seeing any kind of debit or credit card machine about. He handed over two twenties. The man didn't offer him a bag or a receipt; Harry grabbed the candy and pop in one hand and pocketed his change quickly.

The pump handle looked be on its last leg, well-worn and scuffed. The numbers rolled up on the display slowly- not digital which shouldn't have come as a surprise when the town didn't even have stoplights.

Twenty-nine ninety-eight rolled up onto the face of the pump and Harry let go of the handle and put it back into its slot with a nod and a grin at the old man still peering out at him. The man scowled and turned away, his mouth screwed up in distaste and yeah, Harry had already had just about enough of this stupid town.

There was a diner just up the street, _Mikey's_ sprawled in that typical retro-diner font across the over-drop of the entrance. Harry parked near the doors, spotting the coke-red stool-seats and all the chrome finish. It felt like he'd stepped back into the fifties.

Everyone stopped eating to stare at the newcomer, as if Harry was some sort of new exhibit at the fair. He ignored the numerous sets of eyes on him to sit at the counter. A waitress shuffled over, looking at him with no amount of hidden awe.

Harry smiled at her brightly. "Can I have a cup of tea, two sugars and the special please?"

She seemed to melt right before his eyes, nodding and blushing before she jotted down something and skipped away. It was the accent, had to be. Caleb hated that Harry could get people to trust him with a bright smile and a bit of a British lilt.

People were whispering behind him, sounding like a very busy hive of bees with cutlery. Harry ignored them and the strange mental image that thought accompanied, pulling the abandoned paper closer to read through all of its four pages.

Murder seemed to be big news, and the only thing of interest in the whole paper, although Harry was intrigued in the ad for the local 'mystical psychic' and her glowing eye in the crystal ball. It reminded him of Divination class and Trelawney's claims of the Inner Eye and how Harry absolutely hated the smell of sherry.

He really needed that tea.

The latest article on the murders didn't tell him anything new, other than people were quietly freaking out, contemplating the threat of aliens and trying to find the late night cow-tipper. Harry spent most of his time wondering which would put the town more at ease: FBI or state trooper?

The waitress slid back over with his special- cheeseburger and fries- and a cup of tea that trembled in her hands. 'Bertha' was the name stitched into her uniform and Harry smiled at her brightly. It was time to start working his lie.

"Thank you. I was wondering if you knew of any good motels in the area? The station's footing my bill but I'd rather not get on their bad side, if you know what I mean."

Bertha's eyes widened and her whole face lit up, a strand of grey hair falling from her limp bun as she practically quivered with excitement. "You're with the state boys?"

Harry nodded seriously. "Yes, ma'am. Got sent down to deal with your killing spree."

Her excitement dimmed a bit at the reminder of the murders. She looked at him, noticing his rumpled appearance and the lack of a partner. "They sent you all by yourself?"

Harry heard the 'there's only you?!' loud and clear and tried not to let it show on his face. People were always underestimating him, be it because of his size or his friendly nature.

"I'm a Special Agent, ma'am."

"Oh!" she said softly and Harry knew it would be all over town before he'd even finished his burger. "The best place, well the only place in town is the Ant Hill Motel. Darcy McGill and her boys run the place, so it's as clean as your mama's house."

Harry picked up a crisp fry and nodded his thanks, holding back on the urge to tell her his mother and her house had gone up in flames.

Bertha wandered off to serve one of the more surly patrons another cup of Joe and left the ex-wizard to eat his meal in peace.

"Strangers, that's just what we need now." An old man farther down the counter muttered loudly. "Some jumped up city boy looking to cause us more trouble."

His friends murmured in dulled agreement around him, until Bertha stomped over and smacked her coffee pot down on the counter.

"You keep your big-mouth shut, Bill Jenkins. That there's an Officer of the State. He's here to help with the murders!"

Harry chewed his burger slowly, wondering just what it was about small-towns that made the population want to advertise everyone else's business. The increase of the intensity of the stares on him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"We have us a Trooper, boy?" The man named Bill snapped. Harry put down his burger and picked up his cup of tea.

"Yes, Sir." He said evenly, before taking a sip. "I hear you have a problem with dead bodies showing up?"

Bill looked him over with distaste written clear across his face. It looked like he'd taken a bite of something sour and Harry flirted with the idea of dropping a vial of Pepper-Up Potion in the town's water supply before he left.

"If you're worth your weight in salt you'd best be taking in that gypsy woman up on the hill," Bill snarled even as Bertha and a few more of the patrons of the diner rolled their eyes and turned away from him. "She's a god damned witch, I tell you. She knows who did it, if she didn't commit the crimes herself."

Harry twitched at the mention of the word 'witch' frowning slightly at the implication. He knew that Americans were famous for the Salem Witch Trials, but that had been centuries ago…

Still, if there was a witch in Hill City, it was best if he checked it out.

"Does she have a name?"

Bill scowled down into his coffee cup. "She calls herself Madam As-Assi-"

"Assyria," Bertha said with a click of her tongue, "And she's the real deal," She said to Harry. "Same with her mama and her grandma. If you go speak to her, you best keep a civil tongue in your head. Not like this one." She smacked Bill on the top of his head and marched away.

Harry picked up his burger with one hand, flipping back to the page with the psychic's advertisement. He ripped it out carefully, a lead he was more than happy to follow up on.

* * *

After checking into the Ant Hill- and promising to avoid the flirty Mrs. - it's Miss- McGill, Harry set off for the town psychic's house with a determined mood. From the reaction of the townspeople at the diner, Assyria was at the least suspicious, although most of them thought she was a harmless loony who lived on the outskirts of a town that more was like a village than any kind of killer.

Madam Assyria's house was old and weathered, right at the end of the dirt road that winded east out of the town. Trees surrounded the house on three out of four sides, giving it the illusion that it was the only place for miles. Some might have liked the privacy; Harry felt like he was being cut-off and suffocated. This far out, no one would hear him scream.

The front lawn was overgrown with dried out grass and weeds. A rake, a spade and something that looked like a rusty pair of hedge-clippers littered the ground. Harry parked his car back towards the dirt road in, unwilling to get a flat now if he had to escape in a rush.

A thin, scraggly looking goat haunted around the edge of the lawn, it's jaundiced eyes following Harry as he got out of his car. It didn't blink, chewing noisily as it stared at him.

"That is one creepy pet." The hunter murmured to himself, taking care to skirt the animal.

He studied the house as he walked closer, noticing the bright yellow flowers that grew up the side of the steps and bridge. Yarrow flowers…

The house had been white, before the paint had cracked and peeled from an age of sunlight and rainstorms. Pockets of weathered grey wood peeked out at him like freckles, giving the house an old, washed-out look. The door, the large porch and the shutters were all the faded color of robin-egg blue and dull from use.

Harry raised his hand to knock on the wood beside the broken brass knocker when a cranky, smoky voice rang out from inside.

"Enter."

A slight shiver ran down his spine at the trick, but Harry had seen more than enough fakes to know that 'psychics' knew how to put on a good show.

Inside, the house smelled like Pine-Sol and fresh laundry under the heavy scent of incense and smoke. The floors and walls were clean and bright- which was where everything welcoming about the place ended. A small table in the hallway was covered in gaudy red material and fake silver beads. A plastic Halloween skull sat in the middle of a bowl of water that had been changed to purple with food coloring. A tiny fog maker puffed half-heartedly.

Tiny Christmas lights hung from the ceiling like electronic icicles, letting the little pieces of gold and silver stars, moons and suns twinkle at him. An astrological chart hung on the right wall, followed by a picture of The Last Supper exactly across from it. A large collection of scarves fluttered on the coat rack. Harry reached out to examine them as that same voice called out again.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry turned towards the living room, narrowing his eyes to see through the curtain of beads and shells that hung in the entranceway. He moved forward slowly, reaching out to push the strings away before he spoke.

"I'm with the State Polic-"

"No you're not." The voice said irritably. "There's a demon in town killing people.

You're here to stop it."

Harry blinked as his eyes fell on the young woman no older than himself. She had dark blond hair and dark eyes. She didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, except for the huge burn scar covering half of her face. One eye, he saw, was milky and sightless now that she had turned to face him completely. Harry swallowed his discomfort and approached her again.

"How do you know that? There's a demon in town, I mean?"

She rolled her eyes, her fingers working non-stop on the pile of playing cards in her hand. Flip. Ten of Hearts. Flip. Nine of Spades. Flip. Ace of Spades. Flip. Three of Spades. Flip. Two of Hearts.

"I could sense it, boy. Just like I can sense you're no ordinary hunter."

Harry tensed, his hand drifting towards his gun. He could feel the tell-a-tale thrum of magic just under his skin and crap, he was going to have to do something about that before it got out of control.

"I have no idea what you're talking abo-"

"This is yours." She interrupted him suddenly. "I've been drawing the same pattern ever since you stepped onto my land, boy. Sit."

Harry found himself dropping into the chair without a thought, staring as her hands- one burned dark and one perfect and smooth- scrapped up the five cards and shuffled the deck.

"I'm going to show you your future," she said suddenly, still shuffling. The former wizard blinked.

"I don't believe-"

"You've got magic in your blood, boy. Don't tell me you don't believe in the divination." The psychic- Assyria Harry's mind supplied helpfully- stopped shuffling suddenly and flipped over the first card.

"Ten of Hearts. This is what you see, Hunter. A content life. This is your present-" She paused suddenly. "Tell me your name."

"Can't you guess?" Harry automatically said before wincing. He suddenly wished his mouth wasn't permanently set on smart-ass sometimes.

Assyria glared at him. "The fates that speak through me have far better things to say that whatever the fuck your mother decided to call you."

"Harry." He said before she could get riled up. She stared at him for a long moment before humming an acknowledgment and flipping over another card.

"What you can't see. Nine of Spades- Reversed. There is malice and misery and deceit in your life, hidden from sight."

The chill from before returned, this time leaving a slick feeling of unease in the pit of Harry's stomach. Deceit? Malice? From who? Harry only gotten to know a handful of people since fleeing the Wizarding World, all of which he'd trust with his life.

Assyria scoffed, as if hearing his thoughts. "If your life has no meaning to you, it does not matter who you in trust it to."

The Ace of Spades looked foreboding on the scarred table top. The psychic was quiet as she stared at it. Harry cleared his throat after almost a full minute of silence.

"What- what does that one mean?"

Assyria jerked in surprise. "It is the death card. I see it in abundance towards your future. This is what you can change."

Harry stared down at the dirty card, its dark black spade contrasting with the other two cards. This one was important.

Assyria flipped out another card. "Three of Spades. Pain, misery and sorrow. This is what you cannot change."

God, she was worse than Trelawney. Death and destruction everywhere. Harry sighed in defeat, happy that she wasn't prone to drinking large amounts of sherry and blabbing her prophecies (true or untrue) to the enemy.

He jumped when her hand slammed down on the wooden table top.

"I am not some jumped-up farce of gypsy, boy! This gift has been passed down from my mother and my grandmother and her mother before her! If I could ignore what the fates tell me, I would but I am not so heartless as to see the world fall to ruin and ash if I have the power to stop it."

Harry opened his mouth to apologize- although it was in _his _head, thank you very much- when she flipped over the last card.

"What you can expect- Two of Hearts." Her mismatched eyes flicked up to him mockingly. "There you go, cynic. The Card of Lovers. At least if you cannot stop death there will be someone to mourn you."

The young hunter rubbed his forehead in response, letting her pick up the cards and reshuffle the pack. A small part of him wanted to skin Caleb alive for sending him here alone; at least Black Dogs, while vicious as Hell, wouldn't try to tell him his future.

Assyria kept flipping out the same cards- Harry's cards- scowling more and more as she couldn't seem to shake his 'future'.

"What does this have to do with the demon in town?" He asked wearily. "Will this job kill me?"

"Idiot." She snarked. "You found that lover yet? The demon in town is just the beginning of something far worse to come. However, it has served its purpose- it brought you here to me."

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, tired and annoyed. He really didn't have time to mess around with psychics. "So you have a name for me? A description of the poor person this demon is riding?"

"Darcy McGill." She said promptly, startling him. "Talk to her boys if you don't believe me- they'll tell you mommy hasn't quite been the same since she cut out daddy's heart with a steak knife."

Harry rubbed his face, trying to come to terms with the fact that his temporary landlady might possibly be possessed. She had been annoyingly cheerful and more than a bit sleazy when he'd asked for a room but fuck, if that meant she was _demonic._

"Harry." The burned woman said softly, her arm shooting out in sharp contrast to her voice as he'd turned to leave. "I see more than simply these cards allow. I must warn you to beware the yellow-eyed man. Azazel's plans are coming to fruition and what you cannot see will be your death."

Harry felt a zap of magic flare under his skin again, this time spreading across the bridge their hands made. The psychic gasped as a bolt of pain shot down through Harry's temples. She let go quickly, breaking the live circuit their touch had created. Her hand automatically began shuffling the cards again.

"Find out what truly happened the night your parents died, Harry Potter. There in lies the answers you seek." Harry's hand gripped the butt of his gun as she spoke his last name but he didn't draw. The danger he felt from her words came not from Assyria herself but from the message she had given him.

The quiet slip of the cards came to a sudden halt and Assyria drew in a deep breath. Harry swallowed at the sight. "Why'd the pattern just change? How- Is this my new future?"

Five Aces of Spades were laid out across the table and it took a moment for the number to even hit Harry's brain. "Hang on- that's not possible…."

"Peace, child." She said in the silence of Harry's disbelief. "Do not concern yourself with this future- it is not yours to bare…"

Assyria rose to her feet shakily and scooped up the cards, tucking them into her pocket as she grabbed his arm and firmly pulled him towards the curtain. One of the shells caught his eye and he grabbed it before they could pass through.

It was a cat's eye shell. Harry grabbed a string of black beads and found them to be worn down, smooth and heavy. Black Onyx….psychic protection.

"Salt along the windows and door will keep you safe." He said quickly. "Nothing I've seen can get through a salt line."

Assyria shook her head sadly, pushing Harry out the front door. "You've seen the cards- not even divine intervention came save me from what's coming."

She closed the door softly and locked it, leaving Harry alone and chilled in the afternoon sun.


	3. Part Three

Part Three

Assyria had refused to let him back in after that, and Harry had seen enough to know she was more than the real deal. If she couldn't stop whatever she'd seen coming for her, how could magical unstable, clueless Harry do it?

Darcy McGill wasn't at her station when Harry returned to the motel. Instead, a teen no older than sixteen sat behind the counter, his shoulders hunched and drawn in. Harry bit his lip, feeling that heavy weight of dread growing in his gut as he approached the counter.

The teen tensed. "Yeah?"

Harry cleared his throat briefly, thankful his small stature made it easier for people to open up to him. He looked harmless. "Where's Mrs. McGill?"

"Mom's gone out for a bit," the teen said in a rush, obviously trying to get rid of him. "I don't know when she'll be back." The last part was said with a trembling voice, as if he were afraid of that.

Something behind the counter hit the floor suddenly, making them both flinch. Harry reached for his gun while the kid looked behind him quickly, revealing the finger-shaped bruises on the back of his neck.

"Justin!" the teen snapped, bending down to pick up a toddler. The littlest boy was holding onto a ragged, stained blanket and a Ninja Turtles sippy cup. He quickly wrapped his arms around his big brother, looking fearfully at Harry.

"Sor-wee Brian," Justin said softly and the young hunter's blood ran cold at the sight of those same finger-shaped marks on chubby little wrists.

"Where'd you get those bruises?" Harry asked suddenly, leaning in over the counter. He already had the answer- he'd lived with the Dursleys for ten years straight after all- but he needed to hear the teenager say it.

Brian hugged his little brother closer, stepping away from Harry as he scowled shakily. "Justin's a baby, asshole. He's always falling down. Why don't you mind your own business?"

Harry didn't let up. "It looks like someone grabbed him."

"I did. I got to him before he fell over and grabbed him a bit too har-"

"Hard enough to bruise?" The ex-wizard interrupted again. "You put those marks on the back of your neck too?"

Brian slapped a hand over the bruises, his face pale and sweaty. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Justin started to sniffle at his brother's obvious distress.

Harry gripped the edge of the counter, hard. "Listen, I'm only trying to help you. If someone's hurt you and your brother you're not doing anyone any favours, keeping quiet….least of all Justin."

Brian swallowed thickly, gripping his little brother tighter. Justin sobbed into his neck, crying the kind of tears only someone who'd gotten used to the abuse cried; silently.

"What are you a cop or something? I blab and you guys take Justin and me away and put us into foster homes? Split us up?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, I'm not a cop. I'm just someone who wants to help. If you're mum's-"

"Brian!" Darcy McGill- or whatever was riding her- stood in the middling of the living room, just visible from Harry's spot on the counter. Now he could see how she held herself, stiff and unnatural in the lamp light.

Her face was pulled up into a sneer. "What did I tell you about bugging the guests, poppet- come here!"

Brian trembled against the counter, still holding Justin as he began to shuffle forward, obviously terrified of what would happen if he didn't. Harry reached out and grabbed the back of his hoodie, pulling him away from his possessed mother.

"Get out of here."

Brian tuned towards him, his eyes large and glassy with fear. "She's my mo-"

"That's not your mum," he said to the teen, pulling out a flask of holy water. "Christo!"

Brian actually gasped as his mother flinched at the name of Christ and her eyes shone out beetle-black against her pale skin. Harry flipped open the top of the flask, tense and alert.

"Oh, now that's just not nice," she said sweetly, stalking forward. Harry flicked a line of holy water at her, his hand still griping Brian's hoodie as the teenager yelled and attempted to climb over the counter.

Justin screamed, dropping his sippy up again as Harry flicked another line of water at the possessed woman and grabbed Brian with both hands. His legs slipped over the counter just as Darcy reached for him, screaming and clawing at air.

Harry jerked the teen to his feet. "Come on, it's safe in my room!"

"What?!" Brian cried in confusion but wrapped his hand in the hem of Harry's shirt and followed him out the door.

The motel was small, ten rooms at the most, and just his luck, Harry was staying down in number nine. Brian stumbled behind him, panting with fear as he hissed, "Faster! She's going to get us!"

Magic fizzled under his skin, pounding in time with his heartbeat as Harry reached out to grab his doorknob and the door flew open with a bang.

"Step over the salt!" He yelled at the teen before shoving him into the room. "As long as the line is secure, we're safe."

Brian jumped the line completely, falling to his knees in the middle of the room. Harry followed him in, the door slamming shut behind him, eyes scanning the windows for any breaks in the salt as he pulled one of his duffle bags out from under the bed.

Darcy started pounding on the door, shaking the windows in the wall.

He grabbed a shotgun, a couple of rounds of salt shells and another bottle of holy water for Brian.

"Take Justin and go hide in the bathroom. If anyone else comes to get you, shoot them with this and make a run for it."

Brian gapped at him, trying to push the gun away. "I'm not going to shoot my mom!"

Harry scowled and pushed the shotgun into his hand anyway. "It won't kill her." Brian's expression set into mulish teenage stubbornness and the hunter sighed. "Listen, I know you think that's your mum, but really it's not. She's possessed. Whatever is in control isn't worried about hurting you or your brother."

Brian took the gun slowly, letting Harry stuff as many of the salt rounds in his hoodie's pockets as possible. He handed Justin the holy water with the smallest of smiles.

"Don't drop this one."

Darcy was eerily silent outside the door but Harry knew that she hadn't left. If the Latin hadn't tipped her off that he was a hunter the flask of holy water sure had. His palms were sweaty with nerves and adrenaline; Caleb usually tracked Harry down if either of them thought they had a case of demonic possession on their hands.

This was his first solo demon exorcism.

Repeating the verses in his head, Harry crept closer to the door, turning the knob slowly. Nothing moved as he tried to hear anything outside of the muffled sobs of Justin and Brian in the bathroom.

The door flew off its hinges as Darcy snarled at him, still blocked by the salt lines.

Harry flicked a line of holy water at her and started the lines of the exorcism.

"_Regna terrae, cantate Deo_-"

Darcy screamed and disappeared out of sight, and with a scattered glance back at the locked bathroom door, Harry followed.

The day was ending in Hill City, casting everything into shadows as the sun's last rays shone overly bright against his eyes.

Something rustled the bushes behind him and the demon laughed as Harry whipped around to scan the tree line.

"Here itty bitty hunter…..come and find me." She said with another wicked laugh echoing from the opposite side of the motel she'd disappeared around.

Harry gritted his teeth angrily and set off for the back of the motel, knowing he was walking into a trap.

Darcy jumped him before his foot end hit the corner.

"Hello, _Haaaarry._" She coo-ed in his ear, pinning him against the siding of the motel. "The Boy Who Lived. I've heard so much about you from daddy I almost feel like I know you."

It threw him for a moment, the demon actually knowing his true name, let alone the revelation that her father- did demons even have _parents_?- had spoken of him.

"Yeah? I feel at a bit of a disadvantage, not knowing your name. Or anything about you, really."

Darcy pushed him harder into the siding, letting the plastic edge bite into his cheek. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear as she whispered "That's kind of the point, baby. Clueless little Harry, running around thinking his quest was over. You don't even know the _half_ of it."

"Then why don't you tell me?" he snarled, trying to reach for the something to toss her off with but she was stronger than any demon Harry had ever come across before.

"And ruin all the fun?" Her nails dug into the back of his neck and the tender part of his wrist as the demon pulled his trapped arm tighter against his back. "Unfortunately for you, I'm here to take you out of the running. You haven't exactly measured up to the status quo."

The smaller hunter frowned at the implication that some kind of demon had a stake in him. What did that even mean? His fingers brushed the broken end of his wand and a plan started to form.

"Such a shame," She taunted darkly. "Mommy burned up for you and all you turned out to be was a broken, worthless loser."

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the wand just as the knife she'd kept hidden from his sight came down.

"Stupefy!" He shouted and felt a rush of heat tremble down his arm and across palm.

Darcy sailed through the air, her nails scratching the back of his neck as her knife just grazed his left shoulder blade.

The sting of the cut cleared his head and Harry started the exorcism again, wand-half in hand.

"_Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Dominoqui fertis super caelumcaeli ad OrientemEcce dabit voci Suae vocem virtutis,tribuite virtutem Deo._

_Deus caeli, Deus terrae, humiliter majestati gloriae Tuae supplicamus ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate, laqueo, deceptione et nequitia, omnis fallaciae, libera nos, Domine. _

_Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae sub potenti manu Dei—_"

Darcy's head snapped back and an omnious dark cloud spilled from beneath her lips and shot into the sky like a hive of vicious bees or a sentinent curl of smoke. The older woman fell to the ground limply, looking unharmed and pale.

Harry stumbled over just in time to see her come around. That familiar look of terror and confusion made his chest ache as Darcy started to sob.

"Wha- what happened? Why- why am I out he-here?"

"Shhh." Harry tried soothing her, jumping as she reached out and clung to his smaller frame. A twig snapped behind them and Darcy screamed slightly in fright as Brian peeked around the corner, shotgun at the ready.

Harry let out a long, deep breath and gestured the boys over, letting them take over comforting the hysterical woman as he stood up with a grimace and caught the sight of smoke rising from the only house just outside of town.

* * *

Halfway to the Roadhouse, Harry pulled into Valentine, Nebraska and just sat in his car, staring out at the unseen town. That feeling, like the bottom of his stomach had simply vanished, had turned into a building, curling pit of anger and confusion.

He'd thought he was done with it.

With the need for revenge, the need to know all the still unanswered questions surrounding the night his parents died. Harry had walked away from the Wizarding World at least content with the fact that he'd avenged his family and himself, only to find out Voldemort had been the least of his problems that Halloween night.

Azazel, whatever that was, had stepped back into his life, filling the shoes Harry hadn't even known were there to fill.

The only public Library in town seemed to be joined in with Valentine Rural High School. Harry slipped in and frowned at the white pieces of paper flipped over the computer screens. 'Please see the Librarian for Internet Access. One Dollar/Hour.'

"Of course, it may be a public library but heaven forbid all its information be free and available to the public."

The Librarian was a thrity-ish woman with short, black hair and thin lips. She reminded Harry so much of a younger Professor McGonagall, he had to blink the image away.

"Yes?" she said tartly, eying his scruffy appearance critically.

"The computers. I want to log-in?"

The lady clicked her teeth at him- why, Harry had no idea- and pulled out a sign-in book. "Name, date and how much you're paying."

The hunter pulled out a five and jotted down 'Harry James' on the tiny box. She handed him a tiny slip of paper and a sharp look.

"Here's the username and the password. Don't think you can sneak in later and use it again though- I change it every week."

Harry simply stared at her, his eyebrows raised into a perfect 'What the fuck?' expression of bemusement. She scowled at him darkly, making a flapping motion with her hands.

"Go on."

People were _weird._

The desktop computers were ancient; each one a boxy, pale head on the desk, looking like some sort of electronic jury. Harry picked the one farthest from the surly librarian and typed in the ridiculously simple username and pass code.

Google opened slowly, like a slumbering dragon Harry had to poke and prod out of its bed. Five minutes of his five hours wasted, the former wizard got down to work, typing 'Azazel' in the search engine.

Wading through the hits about movies and something called the 'Church of Azazel' and a few dozen sites promoting Satanism, Harry let out a long, frustrated sigh before coming across a demonology wed site dedicated to the demon, _Azazael._

Times passed swiftly as Harry read bits and pieces about Azazel; parts from each religion believing that the mystery demon Assyria has warned him about was none other than a fallen angel. Seraphim level demon. Second in command. Grigori.

Tighter and tighter the ball of anger and fear wound in Harry's gut. This was what had come to his home that night, creeping in and hiding itself presence while Voldemort flaunted his failed triumph to the world.

The words 'guardian of the goat' caught his eye, suddenly bringing to mind the peculiar creature he'd seen at the psychic's house. It had watched him leave, he realized, waited under the guise of a helpless animal for the moment when Harry would have been far too preoccupied with the demon in town to stop it from murdering Assyria-

The screen exploded in a flash of sparks and flying glass, startling Harry into flipping over the back of his chair. Stinging scratches flared along his face and neck from the glass of the screen, the computer- and its two neighbors- still throwing sparks and smoke into the air.

The lights flickered above him erratically and only then did Harry feel the thrum of fading magic under his skin.

God damn it, he'd forgotten about that.

The fire alarm shrilled overhead, bringing the librarian dashing over from her spot behind her desk.

"What happened?!" She exclaimed angrily, taking in the three smoking computers and Harry's place on the floor. The rumble of students all moving outside barely drowned out the constant, shrill drone of the alarm.

"Power surge." Harry said darkly, pulling himself to his feet with a groan. Like he didn't already have enough bruises. He grabbed his notes, the papers more than a bit singed from the blast. "I think the alarm means we have to leave."

The older woman gapped at him, taking in the scratches on his face and the way his hair seemed to be _all over the place_ from the blast. Her lips set into a thin, angry line.

"You better come right back here after your classes have finished so that I can explain this mess to the principal."

Harry shot her a pained look as he shuffled towards the emergency exit. "Of course."

God damn it, he hated being short.

* * *

Just over the border of South Dakota, Harry pulled up along the dirt road that ended at Harvelle's Roadhouse, dirty, tired and covered in thin red scratches. It was midday, the sun bright and hot on the dusty ground as the tired hunter dragged himself out of his car and into the quiet of Ellen Harvelle's bar.

"Hello?" he called out, uneasy at the complete silence. Ash twitched on the pool table, a heap of bad hair and flannel. "Ellen? Joanna?"

The tiny blond Harvelle leveled a gun his way, her face intent. She blinked quickly, not dropping the gun as she said, "Harry?"

Harry sighed as he waited for the tell-a-tale splash of holy water that would tell the Harvelles that he wasn't hiding anything unearthly. Ellen sighed in relief as he didn't fizzle.

"Damn good to see you alive," she said, recapping the bottle. Ash rolled off the pool table, awake and alert.

Harry frowned at all the subterfuge. "What's going on?"

"Been rumors of hunters getting killed lately." Ellen answered. "Elkins is dead. A couple others are missing." She paused, her eyes narrowing in a way that didn't bode well for Harry. "Are you supposed to be hunting with Caleb?"

"We had to split up." He said quickly. "Black Dogs in California and a demonic possession in Hill City. I took the demon."

"That what got at your face?" Jo asked, wiping down the bar top. "Or you and a kitten get into a fight over who was cuter?"

Ash had pulled out the Make-It-Yourself contraption he called a computer and had sat himself down on the freshly cleaned bar when Harry has scowled and said, "A computer blew up in my face."

The young man looked up suddenly, scooting his second grade art project farther down the bar. Jo laughed at them, even as Ellen frowned, taking Harry by the chin and turning his face towards her.

"Lady Luck doesn't seem to be shining down on you this week," she said lightly, turning his face from left to right. "You talk to Caleb yet? Let him know the jobs done and you're still alive?"

Harry pulled his chin out of her gentle grip and shook his head. "I left him a voicemail back in Nebraska but he was out of range. Hunting Black Dogs can take you pretty deep into backcountry."

Here, Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next request.

"We were supposed to meet up here in a couple of days, but I have to be gone- long gone- by then."

Ellen's expression turned troubled and even Ash stopped typing to look up at the smaller hunter. "Are you in trouble? Something you need help with?"

Harry smiled back, trying to look as reassuring as possible. "No trouble. I just need to know if you know of a possible demon expert?"

Jo threw the rag over her shoulder. "What happened down in Hill City?"

"There's been a subtle rise of demonic possessions." Ash announced, still clicking away. "The number of demon-related hunter deaths has increased."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "It was one nasty bugger I dealt with in Kansas, Ellen. Possessed a woman with two children and tormented them for weeks…..the mother was a wreck."

She sighed at the news, a hardness falling into her eyes as she touched her lips.

"Bobby Singer," Ellen said finally. "Runs _Singer Auto Salvage _just a half a day's drive from here in Sioux Falls."

Harry rubbed his face tiredly, ignoring the sting of the scratches. "Am I going to get another gun pointed at me?"

Jo punched him in the arm.

"Just do what Bobby says and you'll be fine. He gives you any lip, tell him I sent you."

Harry nodded, letting Ellen walk off to find the address to Bobby's. Jo touched his elbow briefly.

"Stay a while. Just long enough to eat and sleep. Whatever you want with Bobby, it can wait."

The former wizard smiled tightly. "Alright. Just a little while."

* * *


	4. Part Four

_Part Four_

_Singer Auto Salvage _didn't look much like the kind of place a demon expert would haunt. Huge stacks of crushed, slightly crushed and just plain old crushed cars could be seen from the road turning into the yard.

An old, weathered house, obviously once made for a family, was hidden in the mountains of junk. Harry watched the towers of cars sway precariously as he slinked up the driveway. If he was taken out by an unstable pile of rubbish well, heads would roll.

A huge dog lay on the bonnet of an old rust-bucket, chained and looking deceptively serene. Harry eased out of his car and crept towards the stairs, keeping his eye on the dog the whole time. It just drooled at him silently.

The silence of the place unnerved him the most, he thought as he knocked briskly on the door. Like something big was stirring just out of Harry's sight that left him feeling vulnerable and unprepared.

"Hello?" he called, startling the dog on the car. "I'm looking for Bobby Singer- is anyone here?"

The silence continued to greet him.

"Well, isn't this just fantastic?" Harry muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair and turning to look around the yard. It looked like the end of the world out here; as if civilization had dropped off miles back but for some reason Bobby Singer didn't decide to stop until this very spot.

The dog stayed sprawled over the hood of the car as the ex-wizard stomped down the stairs and wandered towards the tall stacks of wrecked cars. Perhaps the man was in the yard and couldn't hear him?

Curious and somewhat impatient, Harry set off towards the small city of junk in Bobby Singer's yard, wary of the more unstable looking piles. He paused in the obvious walkway between the stacks and took a moment to actually look at Ellen's demonology expert's other hobby.

Despite his initial misgiving on the place, the salvage yard lit up a bit of excitement in Harry. Caleb had taught him more than enough about car care for him to be able to fix his only mode of transportation in a pinch but the science behind it had always quirked his interest.

There just never seemed to be any time between training and hunting and keeping his magic from blowing stuff up to actually learn the trade.

It was like putting a kid in a candy store.

Before long Harry has abandoned his fruitless search, crawling over a crushed stack of what looked like a red Prius and three black BMWs to poke at the remains of a dull red Sunbird.

It looked to be about the same year as his own, the windshield and windows nothing but jagged edges in their metal frames. Harry wanted to pop the trunk, get a peek at her insides and compare but the window was nothing but a big gaping mouth of glass teeth just waiting to swallow him whole.

With a precarious balance and a long sigh, the hunter tugged on the driver's side door. It didn't budge. Shifting his feet for another go at it, Harry put a bit more force behind the pull and found himself six feet below the Sunbird, the breath knocked from his lungs.

The Sunbird swayed on the top of the pile, creaking and groaning ominously. Harry's eyes widened as the old car began to slide off the pile and down towards his uncomfortable spot on the ground.

Chest aching from the fall and his bruises from the hunt, the small hunter rolled frantically out of the way, curling into a ball as the car hit the ground with a thump and threw a cloud of dust into the air.

Against his will, Harry's lungs sucked up a long breath of dust. He lay on the ground and coughed until his eyes watered, right up until the sound of a shotgun cocking echoed against the car metal and a gruff voice asked "Who the hell are you?"

Harry squinted up at the blurry shadow, feeling like a complete and utter moron. "Harry." He choked out as the man in the pig hat scowled darkly at him. "Ellen sent me."

The man- who had to be Bobby Singer- relaxed marginally but kept his gun firmly in Harry's direction.

"That's nice boy but it sure as hell don't explain why you're playing dominoes with my work."

Harry pulled himself to his feet slowly, keeping his hands spread out before him. He was going to hurt come tomorrow morning.

"I was looking for a demon specialist and Ellen pointed me in your direction. Can- do you mind not pointing that gun at me?"

Bobby snorted, and motioned Harry back towards the house with the gun instead. "How about you shut up and do what I say for a moment, idjit."

The former wizard shuffled off towards the house, remembering Ellen's advice to simply follow Bobby's word. "Of course."

The dog was still perched in its spot on car, watching as his owner corralled Harry up the stairs and into the old house like a lost sheep. The chaos outside was mirrored inside.

Books and scrapes of paper and napkins and in one case what looked like an actual scroll littered every available surface. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink and everything seemed to be covered with a very fine layer of dust but this, this was Bobby Singer's home.

The man in question didn't stop, sternly poking Harry in the back to get him moving again. "Through there."

They walked right under a rather interesting looking symbol that covered a big chunk of the ceiling before Bobby made him sit at the kitchen table with his hands flat against the wood.

He kept one hand on the shotgun as he fooled around with something under the kitchen counter, pulling out- much to Harry's surprise- a shot glass and a flask. Bobby poured up a hefty shot and plopped it down in front of his guest with a challenging look.

"Drink up, boy."

Harry didn't touch the damn thing.

"What is it?" He asked icily, well aware that some of the most deadly poisons and truth serums in the Wizarding World looked as innocent as a glass of water.

"Shot of holy water. Make sure it's you in there." The older hunter said with an eye roll. Harry scoffed at him and shook his head. He wasn't falling for that.

"You first."

Something like surprise and maybe a little bit of respect flashed across Bobby's face as he downed the shot he'd put down in front of Harry. The younger hunter studied the man's face intently, looking for any sign of pain or deception and found nothing.

Bobby poured another shot and set it down with an expectant look in his eyes.

Harry sighed and grabbed the glass gingerly. "For the record, I know that doesn't mean you haven't gypped it with something but I'm taking the chance anyway."

Bobby laughed as Harry tipped his head back and downed the shot quickly. It tasted no different from tap water but the smaller hunter swallowed licked his mouth clean of the taste anyway.

If he was going to die of poisoning it damn well was going to be a quick death.

Bobby put the shotgun down and reached for his hat, rubbing his forehead in thought.

"Well, nothing's riding you. What's Ellen want now?"

Harry relaxed as the gun was finally put down- and what was with him and nearly getting killed lately?- and rubbed his face tiredly. "I need your help. I'm looking for information on a demon, a very specific demon."

"How specific?" Bobby asked, already heading over to a large, overstuffed bookcase.

"I've got everything but the Demonic Telephone Book here."

"A yellow-eyed demon." Harry admitted, following the older hunter over to gaze at the books. "Old….." The words of the demon from Hill City came to mind suddenly

'_Mommy burned up for you…'_ "Likes to causes fires."

Bobby stopped looking at the spines of his books to stare at Harry, his bushy eyebrows rising to meet the brim of his cap. He spoke slowly and looked somewhat pale. "What do you want with that thing?"

"What do you know about it?" Harry countered, trying to keep himself from shaking the information out of the older man. "I've already found its name- Azazel."

Bobby played with the brim of his hat, a scowl set firmly in place now that Harry had admitted to knowing something about what he was trying to do.

"Boy, you're not a day over eighteen by my eye- better hunters than yourself have being after this demon for years."

Harry drew back at that, surprised. "Other hunters? What other hunters?"

Bobby's angry expression didn't change- Harry had the feeling the other man liked it like that- but his sigh was resigned.

"Only other hunter I know said to be looking for a yellow-eyed fire demon is John Winchester."

He said the name like it was supposed to mean something to Harry. The younger hunter waited, his eyebrow quirked in an unimpressed manner. "Who is John Winchester?"

Bobby seemed…..pole-axed if anything by his limited knowledge on the other hunters. Caleb kept him away from a lot of them, muttering something about crazy, religious yahoos and close-minded sons of a bitches whenever Harry asked, that the smaller hunter just stopped questioning him.

"Ellen never told you 'bout John when you asked her for a demon expert?"

The former wizard shrugged. "I didn't exactly tell her what I was looking for." He swallowed a slightly nervous feeling that something big was about to happen.

"Will you- can- do you know how I could get in touch with him?"

Bobby made another angry-sounding noise in the back of his throat and turned away sharply. "Yer damned right I could, the stubborn asshole. Yer best not tangling with him to be honest."

Harry struggled to come up with a good reason for needing to contact the apparently well-known hunter. Well, besides the sinking suspicion that this demon had had a hand in murdering his family nearly twenty-three years ago.

"I have to find him. Please."

Bobby sighed, taking off his hat to rub at his hair tiredly- a nervous habit.

"I can get you his last contact number, but God help you after that. John Winchester couldn't get along with the devil himself."

Harry nodded, quietly thinking about Snape and Malfoy and the Dursleys. He grew up dealing with prickly little blighters. He could handle John Winchester. Easy.

At least he hoped.

* * *

Harry took the number and headed over to South Carolina to dispatch of a ghost that had been chopping up hikers in a park there. John Winchester and his demon hunt would have to wait.

Caleb left damn near twenty voice messages on his mobile before the suddenly solo hunter had to call Ellen and get her to relay a message for him. Caleb didn't stop calling- it was Caleb after all- but he did stop expecting an answer as long as Harry kept letting Ellen know he was still alive.

It was a week later, with a sinking heart, that Harry heard the message John the hunter had left for the world.

"….call my son Dean. He can help."

Harry jotted down the number with a frown. Wasn't that just his luck? Unless the man was hunting down Azazel with his son- something he could see if it had attacked his family as well- Harry was out of options.

He ordered himself some pizza and dialed Dean Winchester's mobile.

Three rings went in before a deep, southern-tinted voice picked up with a lazy "'lo?"

Harry gripped his mobile tightly. "Mr. Winchester?"

"One of a few, yeah? Who's this?"

A wave of grief and homesickness overcame the one-wizard at the familiar teasing. God, it was like talking to Fred or George again.

"I'm looking for John Winchester." Harry explained, ignoring the last question. The man on the line snorted bitterly.

"You and me both, man."

Harry frowned in disappointment and confusion. "…oh? Are you Dean then? His mobile said to call your number if I needed help but-"

"You have a problem that needs killing?" There was no doubt about it; Dean was extremely excited about hunting. Harry smiled slightly. He felt bad about disappointing him.

"No, no I need to talk to your father. It's about what he's hunting." Harry swallowed his rage. "I'm hunting it too."

Another voice murmured in the background, and Dean turned the phone away from his mouth to answer it. Another hunter it sounded like, concern and suspicion easily heard between the two.

"How do you know our father?" Dean snapped out, suddenly untrusting and hard. Harry sighed. He sucked at this type of thing. Everything was easier when he was a wizard and Voldemort just wanted to kill him and wasn't that sad?

"I don't know your father but Bobby said if anyone knew about this demon it was John Winchester-"

"Bobby? Bobby Singer?" Dean interrupted, rustling around noisily. "Sammy, he said Bobby told him the number."

"_Sammy?!"_ Slipped out between Harry's lips before he could stop it. The voices on the other side stopped.

"Bobby didn't tell you about Sammy?" Dean asked him sharply. The once wizard shrugged until he realized no one could see him.

"He didn't tell me about you either. Just that your father could help and that John was a stubborn son of a bitch. He warned me that he's…. difficult to get on with." Harry sighed deeply, hoping he hadn't offended the other man by cursing on his father. "What, is Sammy your sister or something?"

Dean laughed loudly in his ear, great peals of laughter as he repeated 'Sammy' and 'sister' over and over again. It sounded like the phone was wrestled away from him, as the laughter grew fainter and another _man's_ voice came on the line.

"It's Sam. Dean is my brother, the jerk. Where are you calling from?"

Harry blushed at his mistake- Sam sounded very manly and damn, he hoped he didn't get punched if he ever met up with the Winchester siblings.

"South Carolina. I just finished a hunt in Georgetown."

Sam made an acknowledging noise. "Huh- Dean scratch South C off the list. Ghost's been dealt with."

Dean snatched the mobile back from his brother if Sam's affronted squawk was any indication before he panted softly into the phone. "Dude, we have got to meet up. Give a couple of days to get back to you?"

They were going to check him out. Harry knew it was the logical thing to do- maybe they had a way of getting in touch with their father.

"Alright. I'm staying at a motel in town. Call me back with this number."

Dean swore, looking around for a pen before demanding Sam hand over his mobile.

"Got it. See you in a couple, man."

He hung up before Harry could reply. He stared down at his phone- now all he could do was wait.

* * *

Two days later, Sam left a message on his voice mail

"We'll meet you in Tuscaloosa. In Alabama." Someone- most likely Dean- whispered excitedly at Sam who huffed into his mobile. "Dean says there's a- _a what? -_ Oh my God. There's a…._bar_ there called Centerfolds. Meet us there in a week, at six."

As Sam went to hang up, Harry heard him exclaim, "Dean, I'm going to _kill_ you-" before the mobile clicked shut.

He laughed the whole way to Alabama.


	5. Part Five

Part Five

Looking back on the voice mail, Harry kind of wondered where his brain had gone. He didn't realize what kind of….establishment_ Centerfolds_ was until he was standing right in front of it.

It was a strip joint.

Harry wanted to die.

Slippery, skeezy looking men eyeballed him as he stood in the middle of the walkway and tried to build up enough courage to enter the bar by six. They probably thought he was an underage-teen trying to get his first peek at naked woman.

Harry figured telling them he was almost certain he liked men would get him beaten and left for dead in an alley somewhere.

Five minutes to six, the former wizard pulled some of his famous Gryffindor courage up from somewhere and braved the entrance.

Strobe lights flashed blindingly around what Harry assumed to be the 'stage' while the music tried its best to give him premature hearing loss. Men in various stages of drunken stupor stuffed dollar bills into the string of one girl's thong as her co-worker danced and twirled around a pole.

Harry's eyes widened as she turned around to face her audience, dropping her top. He scrambled to find a table that was partially blocking his view of the topless woman's swinging assets with a potted palm.

Another woman dressed in nothing but a strip of fabric that was supposed to be a skirt and a pair of uncomfortable looking stilettos asked for his order but the wizard simply shook his head, keeping his gaze studiously fixed on the main door. The woman pointed to the sign behind the bar that read 'Two Drink Minimum'. Harry frowned and said "Um, two beers?"

His topless waitress rolled her eyes at the response before flouncing off, with a swing of her…chest.

More and more men piled into the bar, each as shady looking as the last and God, what if the Winchester brothers were like these guys? So lonely and horny for affection they'd pay for it from a bunch of girls who could very well have been their daughter in another life.

Harry wished he'd had the nerve to order something stronger than a beer.

At exactly six o'clock two men walked into Centerfolds that didn't exclude the same sleazy air as the others. The first was a bit shorter than his partner (easily taller than Harry could ever hope to be) wearing a scarred leather jacket and a cocky smile. The latter was tall- almost freakishly tall compared to everyone else- and obviously built although his slumped posture suggested his didn't like all the attention his height gave him. He carried a messenger bag on his shoulder like it belonged there.

They canvassed the bar quickly, obviously looking for someone and Harry figured these were his guys. Sam and Dean Winchester. He smiled slightly as the shorter one locked gazes with him and nudged his giant shadow.

Their height made him want to sink into the floor. Still, proper manners told him it wasn't polite to greet someone while sitting on your arse if you could stand.

"Harry?" The one who had to have a drop or two of giant blood in him asked. The smaller hunter nodded, not remembering telling either of them his name.

"If you are Sam and Dean."

He nodded. "I'm Sam and this is my older brother Dean."

Harry shook their hands, vaguely wondering how someone as huge as Sam got pinned with the nickname 'Sammy'.

Dean, who had been gazing at the pole-dancing woman, blinked and looked down at Harry as if seeing him for the first time.

"You're a hunter?"

It was said with more than a bit of disbelief. Harry tried to stand straighter and taller but his small frame wouldn't allow it. Being shorter than _anyone_ sucked for intimidation.

"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

Dean's green eyes; paler than his own and flecked with gold and bronze- skimmed over Harry slowly.

"You think I'm complaining, dude?"

The former-wizard sighed wearily, rubbing his head. He caught sight of another topless girl and winced. "Opinions aside- did we really have to meet _here_?"

Dean just smirked at him.

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically and pushed his brother into one of the vacant seats. He seemed to be used to his brother's cocky, somewhat awkwardly forward attitude. Harry sat back down, trying to ignore the weird tingle Dean's smile had brought on.

Dean's eyes flickered between Harry and the dancing woman as Sam pulled his bag onto his lap. "You said you were hunting the same demon as our father? How do you know?"

Harry drummed his fingers on the slightly sticky tabletop. "It recently killed a…friend of mine. Burned her house to the ground because she told me to look into the night my parents died. To find out the answers to all the unexplained questions."

Sam frowned. "What makes you so sure the demon our dad's been after for over twenty years is the same on your hunting though?"

"Better yet," Dean interrupted. "What does the death of your parents have to do with it?"

The older Winchester grunted suddenly, sending his brother a tight smile. Harry guessed they'd participated in that age-old sibling tradition of under-the-table shin kicking.

"They also died in a house fire. When I was a baby."

They stopped their unspoken argument to stare at Harry in surprise. He felt awful lying to them like this- Voldemort and Azazel had killed his parents- but the fire _had _destroyed his house.

"A house fire?" Sam asked thickly, gripping his bag tightly. "You didn't know this before?"

Harry frowned. "I knew their house had been destroyed but I never knew there was anything supernatural about it until Assyria told me about a yellow-eyed man."

"Assyria?"

The ex-wizard bit his lip. While he fully believed in divination and the fact that Assyria was a true psychic, most of the hunting community was…scornful of anything to do with fortune telling and palm-reading. Caleb had kept him away from that side of hunters, oddly protective whenever an outsider inquired about Harry.

"She's the one Azazel killed. She…was psychically inclined."

They didn't so much as flinch at the mention of Assyria's profession but Sam leaned forward, eyes glinting and asked "Azazel? That's its name?"

Harry nodded sharply. "Yes, I'm sure of that. Even if Bobby's reaction hadn't clued me in, the information I'd already found-"

Sam quickly pulled out a laptop and started booting up. "Great, you can email me anything you have. I have loads of files on fire demons but not a single one mentioned the name Azazel-"

Harry eyed the computer with more than a little mistrust. The last one he touched had blown up in his face after all.

"I'm sorry I don't even have a computer, much less an email."

Sam faltered, blinking at Harry as if he'd just said he could do a better pole-dance than the woman covered in what looked like flimsy elastic bands was doing on the stage.

"You don't- how do you not have a computer?"

Dean watched them intently, seeming to find some sort of amusement in his brother's pole-axed expression.

"If I need any information I don't already know or have I simply go to the library." He frowned at the blue and black design on Sam's laptop. "Computers don't like me very much it seems."

"Yeah, I hear ya. sucks. Nothing but viruses," Dean said, unexpectedly. Harry felt his eyebrows slowly travel up towards his hairline as Sam sent his brother what had to be the 'what's wrong with you!' look.

Dean _almost_ pouted, tapping the tabletop jerkily. "I'm going to go get us some beers. You like beer? Okay then."

They watched him leave, Sam fighting a smug smile. Harry jerked a thumb in his brother's direction.

"Is he always that…odd?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

Harry pulled out his own notes on Azazel and tried to picture a Dean Winchester that wasn't kind of awkward.

"A lot of religions have differing views on him but each one agrees that he's evil, pure and simple."

Sam nodded. "Well, he is a demon. But the name Azazel…it sounds familiar?"

The smaller hunter sighed. "That's where it gets…complicated. According to the demonology texts I found on-line and the sparse bit of reading I did at Bobby's, Azazel is a Fallen Angel."

"Grigori." The youngest Winchester breathed, taking Harry's notes slowly, as if they might burn him. "I knew I'd read the name somewhere. He's the leader of the fallen angels. He's responsible for telling the secrets of warfare and heaven to humans."

Dean returned with three open PBRs. He set one down beside his brother and turned to smile at Harry.

"Thanks." The former wizard smiled back and Dean knocked the bottle over, spilling cold beer down Harry's front.

"Shit!" He groaned as Harry jumped back from the mess and Sam squawked and snatched his laptop away from the growing pool of beer. "Sorry, man."

"It's fine." Harry said exasperated as Dean continued to apologize, cursing as he grabbed a handful of napkins. The older hunter paused when he saw where the beer had fallen, his ears turning pink as quickly handed the paper over to Harry. Dean cleared his throat, shaking the whole thing off of his shoulders as a familiar smirk spread across his lips.

Sam watched them some sort of secret understanding spreading across his face as Harry tried to soak up the sticky mess spread neatly across the crotch of his pants. Dean met his brother's expression head on, entering what Harry could only guess was the patented sibling stare down. He'd seen the Weasley siblings participate in the same tradition many times before.

"Bugger." Harry swore to himself before standing. "Could we do this somewhere else? Preferably where I have clean pants?"

"We're staying at the motel just two blocks from here," Sam supplied, stuffing his laptop and Harry's notes into his messenger bag. "At least we won't have to scream and squint at each other."

Dean tossed a few more napkins onto the wet table. "We sure as hell won't get this kind of show though."

Harry stood with a grimace, feeling his pants stick to his skin. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "If you say so."

Dean's smirk vanished as he followed his brother out of the bar.

By some stroke of luck or chance, the shiny black impala parked next to Harry's car belonged to the Winchesters. Sam huffed as his brother greeted their ride as if it were alive.

"Aw, baby I'm sorry I had to park you next to this eyesore. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Harry felt his eyebrow twitch at the insult to his car. Something must have shown on his face though, because Sam took one look at him and burst into loud, manic laughter. Dean frowned at his brother faintly, not getting the joke until Harry walked around to the driver's side of the car and unlocked the door forcefully.

"I'll meet you in your room after I've cleaned up?"

"We're staying in Room Eleven." Sam managed to squeeze out as he wiped his streaming eyes.

Harry got in and pulled away from the bar, catching sight of Dean smacking his head against the roof of the car in the rearview mirror.

* * *

The motel was slightly better than the places Harry usually haunted. It looked respectable for one, even if it was only two blocks from Centerfolds.

The motel clerk was a crabby old man who gave Harry a key for Room Four when he asked for one closer to Room Eleven. The hunter eyed the keys for Rooms Nine, Ten and Thirteen angrily but the man simply scowled at him and gestured to the office door.

The room was modeled after one of those hunting lodges people with money liked to own and covered with stuffed animal heads with beady eyes that filled Harry with the urge to douse them with holy water- just to be sure they weren't actually following his every move.

One bed, one nightstand, a small table that was joined to the wall, an old television set- one that still had antenna. The Glamorous Life of the American Hunter. Harry shook his head and quickly began salting the windows, accommodating for the swing of the door before grabbing a change of clothes and hopping into the shower.

Dean had insulted his car, and petty or not, he wasn't going to rush for anyone.

Fresh and decidedly not sticky, Harry rummaged through his bag, grabbing his butterfly knife, his wands halves, a flask of holy water and a glock- just to be safe.

Carefully stepping over the salt line, Harry left his room, locking the door behind him. The impala was parked farther up the row of rooms; right outside of Number Eleven…which was suspiciously dark.

Harry paused, trying to peer through the lacy curtains without much success.

"Sam? Dean?" He called out, rapping on the worn door. Nothing moved inside- although Number Seven did start cursing a blue streak at all the noise.

The lone hunter hovered outside their door, unsure where the brothers could have gone in such a short length of time. Had they run into trouble? Perhaps they had gone to get something to eat.

He knocked on the door again, just to be sure but only silence answered him. Turning away to head back towards his own room a sudden thought hit him. What if the demon had found the boys because of Harry? He could very well have led the damned thing right to their door, just as he'd done with Assyria.

Turning back, Harry tried the knob, finding it locked into place. He growled darkly, patting his pants for his lock-picking kit when the door popped open just a crack.

His magic had to be acting up again; locks and electronics were usually the first things it attacked.

He pulled out his knife, not ready to accidentally shoot anyone, and pushed the door all the way open, hoping for some light to see by. The room was like a black hole; swallowing up any light from the street.

Harry edged forward, knife poised to lash out at anything that might be waiting as he slipped one hand over the door jam and searched for the light switch.

Something hard and unyielding wrapped around his wrist and pulled him into the dark room. Harry slashed forward with his knife but the person had already pushed him backward as another pair of arms slipped around his neck and chest, pushing Harry's own knife against his throat.

The door slammed shut, prompting the trapped hunter to kick and thrash in his captor's hold. The chest at his back vibrated with groans before the person who had been hiding by the door flicked on the light.

* * *


	6. Part Six

Part Six

Harry blinked the spots out of his eyes as Sam leaned against the door and let a man who had to be his father splash a line of holy water in his face.

"Christo." Dean snapped behind him and Harry relaxed. This had to be the Winchester version of Bobby's shot-test.

He rather liked Bobby's way of interrogation better.

Sam and John stared intently at him, waiting for some kind of reaction but Harry just relaxed in Dean's hold and sighed.

"I really wish you would stop throwing drinks at me. It's getting to be an annoying habit."

Sam cracked up and John sighed.

"He's clean." The old man said to Dean, who slowly eased their intertwined hands away from Harry's neck and stepped back. The ex-wizard missed the heat along his back before he shook the thought out of his head.

"Was that really necessary? Given the choice, I would have liked my holy water in a shot glass rather than thrown in my face."

"He _does_ know Bobby," John said with a wry smile.

Dean made to move around him, smacking him in the back with his shoulder instead.

"Sorry." He muttered, scowling as Sam roared with laughter again.

Harry winced and rubbed the spot painfully. "It's alright."

Dean strode away, scrubbing at his hair tiredly.

John opened his mouth to say something to his oldest when Harry's mobile went off startling them all.

He pried it out of his back pocket and sighed as he saw the name on the front display.

'Caleb.'

The ring tone- some kind of high-pitched chime that Harry could hear no matter where the damn mobile wedged itself- cut off after a few rings. He frowned; usually Caleb waited until his voice mail picked up.

The ring tone sounded again, his friend and mentor's name flashing on the display. Harry resisted the urge to answer the call, shutting off the phone instead and shoving it deeply into his hip pocket.

"Worried girlfriend?" Dean asked, nodding at the mobile.

Harry shook his head. "A friend of mine. Caleb wasn't exactly thrilled when he found out I was doing a job alone."

John frowned. "He's damn well got a right to be concerned if you're out hunting the demon alone. You don't look a day over-"

"I'm twenty-four," Harry said flatly before another Winchester could unintentionally insult him. "Caleb just worries. He'd make a good mother."

"Caleb?" Sam said suddenly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Caleb Morrison?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe he can let Caleb know he's hunting with us?" Sam asked his father. "We could stop hiding your truck around the back that way."

John frowned, tugging his beard in thought. "It could work. It would certainly put Caleb's mind at ease to know his boy isn't out there alone anymore."

Harry felt something warm bloom into life at that- Caleb was like a father to him and Harry felt awful keeping him out of this hunt for his own protection

Dean tossed his mobile over in a flash, Harry's seeker skills the only thing keeping him from dropping it. "He's probably still calling yours."

The former-wizard nodded gratefully and took the phone, quickly clicking out a text message that didn't reveal anything about the hunt or his location.

"Don't mention me." John cautioned. "We don't want word getting out that I'm hunting with my boys again." He paused before adding. "I don't think Caleb's very fond of me at the moment."

Harry looked up from Dean's mobile, eyebrows raised. "Bobby didn't give me a glowing review about you either. He actually suggested I keep away from you."

Sam made an exasperated face. "Is there anyone we know that you haven't managed to piss off in the last four years?"

John ignored him, turning to sit at the cheap desk in the corner.

"My boys say you're hunting the same demon we are. Is that true?"

"Yes, Sir," he answered softly. "I was supposed to head out with Caleb to deal with a pack of Black Dogs up north but we caught wind of demonic activity in Hill City and split up."

Sam and Dean each took at seat as well, leaving Harry to flop tiredly down on one of the beds. "You didn't mention a demon at the bar," Sam said mildly.

Harry shrugged. "It's not exactly my finest moment. It escaped, after trying to kill me and the children of the woman it was possessing."

"Can't get them all," John said with look of gruff understanding. "Was there anything odd about the case itself? What kind of omens sent you up there?"

Harry frowned, thinking back to the file Caleb had given him the night before he'd left. "Cattle mutilations. Freak lightning storm. Dead crops. Three dead bodies with their hearts ripped out."

The three Winchesters shared a look that told Harry they already knew this. It was kind of annoying. "We would have guessed werewolf had the lunar cycle been right. I've never heard of a demon stealing people's hearts before this case."

"It depends," Sam said in the same tone Hermione used to use when she was explaining something to Ron. "Mostly, demons just want to murder and torture and pillage."

"Like supernatural pirates," Dean quipped before catching Harry's eye and smirking slowly. Sam frowned at him tightly before continuing.

"If they're sent up here with a specific mission or goal in mind, they could use hearts to communicate with Hell or each other."

"Didn't you say the crazy lady back in Nebraska had human hearts on the alter she was using to control the reaper?" Dean added, a dark look steeling over his features.

John nodded. "Most dark alters involve the use of human hearts to control or summon the supernatural. I wonder who your demon was contacting."

"Azazel." The smaller hunter said promptly, not surprised to see that _John_ knew the demon's true name. He seemed like the type to keep information to himself; just like another old man Harry once knew.

"When I arrived in Hill City," he continued. "A few of the townspeople were openly suspicious of the local psychic. You know how people are- they're so afraid of the unknown that anything slightly different feels threatening. Assyria ran a fortune-telling business out of her house so I paid her a visit."

"Never leave a lead unchecked," John intoned wisely.

"Right," Harry agreed. "I was expecting a fraud. Most psychics are but she knew things about me I didn't even know- she even about the demon in town. She gave me the victim's name."

"She told you about the demon?" Sam asked softly, remembering that Harry had called this woman his friend after such a short meeting.

The ex-wizard nodded. "She told me my future; she kept flipping over this tattered deck of cards as she spoke- like she couldn't help it. I was going to leave and exorcise the demon….I thought she was crazy until she told me to beware the yellow-eyed man."

John rubbed his mouth, his eyes distant. "Yes, she was definitely talking about our demon. Did she say anything else?"

"Just that Azazel's plans were coming to fruition and that I should look into the night my parents died."

"You think the demon killed her because she told you," Dean said evenly. Harry looked away.

"Right after she told me, the pattern in the cards changed. Her own future suddenly spat out five Aces of Spade."

Sam shivered. "It's the Card of Death in Cartomancy." He added when his brother frowned in confusion. Dean made a face. "That's just creepy."

Harry rubbed him hands, the ever-present guilt bearing down on him. "I left her there, because I had to get rid of the demon in town. I knew something was going to happen- _she knew it_- but I still left her there."

There was nothing they could say that would ease his guilt.

"Was there anything else?" John asked after a moment of silence. Harry paused, remembering Darcy's words as the demon in her held him trapped against the motel.

"Yeah, the demon… it was like she was trying to kill him- not just because I was hunting her down either. She knew my name. She even said my mum burned up-"

Each Winchester man looked pained at those words, pale and angry as Harry told his story. He'd forgotten what the demon was capable of, and that maybe his family hadn't been its only victim.

"But you already guessed that."

John nodded, his fingertips caressing the worn golden band still wrapped around his finger. Dean didn't say anything, his mouth pressed into a firm, angry line.

"It killed our mom, when I was a baby," Sam finally explained. "And my girlfriend this past November."

Harry winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry. I- I have a bad habit of saying things without thinking."

Dean cleared his throat, rising from his seat with a tired groan. "It's getting late." He warned his father. John seemed to snap out of what memories held him captive and gave a short nod in response.

"Go get some sleep, Harry and I'll send one of my boys to come get you in the morning."

The former-wizard rose from the bed with a frown. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

Here, the older man's face took on a predatory look. "Tomorrow, I teach you how to hunt this demon."

* * *

The Winchesters stayed silent as Harry closed the door to their room. Dean pulled his bag out from under his bed and started digging for fresh clothes. Sam picked at his nails until the quiet click of Harry's door opening and closing told them their new accomplice was out of range.

"So, what do you think?"

John shrugged casually, still going over bits and pieces of Harry's story in his head. "You caught the accent he's been trying to hide? He sure as hell ain't from around here- that at least tells me where the damn thing has been going when it dropped off the map. Right across the fucking pond."

Sam pursed his lip in thought. "Well, topside is topside to demons." He said slowly.

"They wouldn't exactly be confined to man-made boundaries."

"It's just him," Dean said suddenly. "I mean, the demon killed both of his parents. I wonder how he survived-"

"You don't know that," the youngest Winchester said suddenly, feeling the need to defend Harry. The other hunter's past eerily mimicked his own. "That's not a very nice thing to ask, Dean."

"Can't deny it's suspicious, Sammy." John interrupted his boys, before they started tussling on the beds like five year olds. "He's got the good reputation of Caleb and Bobby on his side though. Bobby wouldn't have given him my number if he wasn't who he said he was and Caleb doesn't just take in anyone."

"Which is good news for Dean," Sam said slyly, a bright smile stretching across his face. It just screamed that Sam was convinced he had 'black mail material' His brother stopped separating the clothes in his duffle bag to scowl at Sam.

"Dude, what are you talking about?"

"You're- I don't know! Sweet on him or something."

Dean laughed loudly, posturing in that overly macho way that made his little brother want to subject him to a six hour marathon of Lifetime movies.

"Sweet on him? You want me to pick you up some chocolate at the grocer's Judith?" He teased, always poking fun at Sam's more sensitive nature.

His brother shot him his standard 'unimpressed' expression, crossing his arms for good measure. "Dean, you remember when I was in the tenth grade and had that huge crush on Jenna Sparks?"

"God you were such a dork. Couldn't string two words together that didn't make you sound like a freak and- oh come on!" He protested as Sam smirked at him. "I'm way cooler than that."

"You're really not," his brother said with a fond smile. "I distinctly remember this routine from your time with Cassie."

Dean fidgeted, cocking out one hip as he tended to do when he was nervous. "Dude, we have got to pick you up some balls at the nearest K*Mart or something. Who talks like that?"

John snapped his gun back together with a sharp look. He hoped his boys knew the difference between teasing and sharing more than was necessary. This wasn't something he wanted or needed to hear right now. There were far more important things, in John's opinion, that whoever Dean decided to spent his down time with.

Dean, much to his family's surprise, began to angrily search through his duffle bag.

"Whatever. Can we talk about something else?"

Sam frowned, crossing his arms and rubbing at his chin as he fought back a grin. "Dude, I'm just saying-"

His brother didn't find half as much amusement in the situation as Sam. "I'm going to take a shower," he said sulkily, slamming the door in what was a very good impression of Sam in his teenage angst years.

John quirked a cool eyebrow as Sam chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"You should have seen it Dad," he said with a sigh. "The only way it could have been perfect was if Dean and Harry had knocked foreheads or something."

John hid a small smile from at the very thought of his self-proclaimed Casanova of a son fumbling and stuttering all night. As much as he didn't want to know, John remembered being that young and naïve once. "All thumbs was he?"

Sam's brows furrowed as he studied his father. John had no idea what was going on in his youngest son's head until he spoke. "You're taking this awfully well. I was kind of suspecting shock or…."

"Me to be the stubborn bull you're used to?"

Sam shrugged, not denying the truth.

John adopted a mournful, almost grudging expression. "You see a lot hunting with Dean. Sometimes more than you want."

Sam lost it again.

* * *

Harry slept soundly, feeling more at ease with the Winchesters just down the walk. He wasn't a coward by any stretch, but with barely six years of hunting under his belt he was still far from being as prolific as the three men he'd met that night.

He was brushing his teeth when Harry thought he heard someone knock on his door. He listened again, shutting off tap and poking his head out through the bathroom door just to be sure.

Sam's huge shadow hovering outside his window was a dead giveaway.

"God, I've seen arthritic grandmothers knock louder than you," the youngest hunter said, his voice emitting 'eye roll' before he pounded hard on the door.

"Come in!" Harry called, sticking the toothbrush back in his mouth for a last, quick scrub.

Someone- probably Dean- stumbled over the slight rise in the floor level at the bottom of the door and cursed.

Sam snickered and Harry grinned. Yup, Dean.

The former wizard ambled out of the bathroom just in time to see the older Winchester trying to fix the break his foot had made in the salt line around the door.

Dean pulled his foot away hastily, sending Harry his smirky grin. "We're going to get some breakfast, man. Want to come?"

He said it like a five year old, telling Harry that they were going to Disney Land and Sam pulled that already familiar face; as if he was trying to hold back a long, loud laugh.

Harry nodded. "Of course. Just let me grab my jacket."

Sam grinned brightly, hovering outside of the room as Dean waited and made to hold open the door for the smaller hunter. They side-stepped each other awkwardly, treading on each other's toes and huffing in amusement. Finally, Dean pressed himself up against the door and gestured Harry out.

"After you."

"Thank you."

Sam smirked at them from the pavement. "You done?" he asked his brother who frowned sulkily.

"Shut up and get in the car, Sammy."

As he crawled into the back of the impala, Harry wondered if all families were this weird or if it was simply the Winchester way.

* * *

John looked up with a slight frown as Sam stumbled in through the door carrying a tray of steaming coffees and the same perpetual grin he'd had on ever since yesterday. The one that told John his oldest had made a fool of himself again.

"Really, it was an accident," Harry said exasperated as he followed Sam in, carrying a bag of what smelled like warm muffins in one hand while he cradled his other hand to his chest.

John could already see the tips of two fingers purpling.

"What happened?" he asked sharply as Dean shuffled in after them, carrying three more bags.

"Dean let the door go too soon and caught Harry's fingers." Sam supplied cheerfully, holding out a large black coffee.

"Sam." His brother said sharply, throwing the bags down on the small table as his father raised a secretly amused eyebrow at his misfortune. Harry smiled at him.

"It's fine. I swear. Give it a few days and I won't even notice- ow!"

Sam covered a wide smile with his coffee cup.

* * *


	7. Part Seven

Part Seven

They spent a week in Alabama, Harry absorbing everything John Winchester could teach him about the demon and how they were tracking its movement across the country.

It was…surprisingly straightforward.

"It's the omens," John admitted. "The cattle mutilations, the electrical storms, failing crops… they start turning up about a week before the Demon shows its face."

To be honest, Harry had been expecting something a little more... impressive.

The black and blue bruises on Harry's fingers had faded in less than a day, much to Dean's obvious relief. The former wizard's ability to heal quickly turned out to be a blessing when the oldest Winchester brother dropped the half-reassembled Beretta on Harry's big toe, tackled him out of the way of a potentially fatal, knife-throwing poltergeist and put the rock salt cartridge in backwards while they were hunting a vengeful spirit.

If Harry had not already been a bit suspicious of Dean's awkward antics, Sam's ever-constant smirk or out and out laughter would have given it away.

Dean _liked_ him. Liked him in that 'I'm going to make a huge fool of myself and forget I know the English language' kind of way.

Harry spent three days in a daze at the very idea, and then another three trying to figure out _why_ anyone would like him, especially _Dean._

The oldest Winchester brother was a handsome man; handsome in a way that Harry was pretty sure he could get anyone he wanted just by _smiling_ at them.

The ex-wizard spent nearly a week as a stuttering mess, only adding to Sam's amusement and pulling a few laughs out of _John_ before he bucked up and decided to ignore it.

They had a demon to hunt, a job to do, and nobody needed the added distraction- who was he trying to kid? For all his Gryffindor courage and bravery, Harry was downright terrified of opening himself up to anyone. Thinking back on his childhood, his fleeting relationships with both Cho Chang and Ginerva Weasley and his startling ability to alienate (and kill) everyone who'd ever loved him, Harry wasn't all that surprised by the revelation.

Everybody kept a keen eye on the weather reports; Sam taking the west coast, John the east, Dean the south and Harry the north, even as they piled into their respective vehicles and shot off towards Boise City, Oklahoma to deal with a nasty spirit that had a thing for young, aspiring artists.

Despite his best intentions, Harry found his gaze drawn to Dean time and time again, only to find that Dean was gazing back.

* * *

Harry scowled at the Sunbird fiercely, hoping that would solve the mysterious noises his engine seemed to start spitting out, just outside of Crossett, Arkansas. He didn't remember his Firebolt being this troublesome.

He'd changed the oil just a little while back, all the spark plugs were in working order and that was where Harry's automotive expertise ended. Unless his car abruptly died in the middle of the road, he was stuck.

The door to the motel room opened behind him and Harry turned to see Dean ambling down the stairs slowly, his hands stuffed in his front pockets.

"Need a hand?"

Harry frowned at him. "Oh? You're going to help me fix the 'eye sore'?"

The older hunter scowled but didn't look away this time, meeting his gaze head on.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

Harry sighed with a shrug. "Sure. It's not like I can figure it out. It just started…knocking just outside of town."

Dean hummed, shuffling over to brush shoulders with him as he studied the engine intently. Harry watched as the oldest Winchester brother reached into the engine and began tugging and poking around, his fingers deft and sure.

"Tell me what you're doing, please?" The former wizard asked with a bright hopeful smile as he realized Dean actually knew what he was doing. "Caleb taught me how to get to a garage but-"

Dean smiled at him- really smiled- and pointed to the big hulking middle of the engine. Or at least what Harry thought was the engine. "I'm pretty sure your pistons are worn down."

"….that means nothing to me."

Dean barked out a short laugh and pointed out the parts he meant. Harry had to admit they were looking a little….worn.

"So, I can fix it?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah, it's fixable with parts and time."

Harry wanted to groan. "Both of which we have none of."

Dean nodded, rubbing his face and smearing grease across his forehead and cheek. "I guess you're lucky. I have a guy down in Junction City who owes me a couple of favours- won't ask any questions."

"We don't have time to stop, right?" The smaller hunter wanted to immediately reject the offer; he didn't want to drop his car off in some unknown city, leaving it in the hands of a stranger, but there was a demon out there who liked to burn up young mothers for no good reason other than that it could.

Harry smiled. "Guess this means I'm riding with you."

Dean cocked a sly smile his way, resting a hand on the edge of the open hood. His greasy hand slipped as he began to speak and Harry couldn't hold in his laughter as he watched the other hunter try to recover his balance.

"I'll pack up my weapons; stop your mysterious friend from getting in trouble."

Dean nodded, his ears stuck in that permanent state of pink and turned to get his mobile when Harry caught his sleeve.

"You've got grease all over your face," he said with a chuckle before he licked the pad of his thumb and gently scrubbed the smudged black marks from the taller hunter's cheek and forehead. Dean stood completely still, his shoulders and back tense under Harry's other hand as the smaller hunter pushed up onto his tiptoes to reach the stubborn spot just under Dean's hairline.

"There," he said softly, smoothing the prickly fringe back into place with a small smile. He dropped back on his feet as Dean's hands came up to circle around his elbows, as if he didn't want Harry to move away.

The younger hunter stared up at him, confused and excited as a warm sort of anticipation began bubbling under his ribs. Dean opened his mouth, once, twice, three times before coming to some sort of decision and shuffling closer.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, startling them apart like frightened rabbits. Harry tripped over the edge of the curb and fell on his ass, skinning out his palms.

Dean cursed up at his younger brother as Sam bit his lip, actually looking contrite. "Hey, um sorry! Dad- dad wants to see us all." His smile dropped. "The trail's authentic."

Harry sucked in a deep breath, shaking out his stinging hand as he let Dean pull him to his feet.

"I'll call Jimmy right away," the older brother said quietly, heading into the motel. Harry rubbed his hands absently, frowning as the skin appeared pink and whole.

* * *

"There are two possible locations," John admitted, confirming the data Sam and Harry had found. "One here, near Fort Bragg, California." A blunt finger hit a small area right on the west coast. "And here, Cedar City, Utah."

"It stands to reason that one of them is a trap," Dean said darkly, hunched over the huge map with his father.

"We'll have to make an educated guess," Harry said softly. "Where do we stand to lose the most?"

"There's nothing in California," Sam said flatly. "Not where the omens are all congregating anyway. Utah though…."

He let the threat hang in the air, somber and full of frustration.

"I guess it's official then, boys," John said after a long moment. "Pack quickly and by first light we head to Utah."

Sam's mobile went off, startling them all.

He fished the vibrating phone out of his pocket with a frown of confusion, the expression deepening as he read the name on the display.

"It's Caleb."

Harry felt his heart start to pound. "Answer it- it might be important."

Sam looked at his father in askance and John nodded. "Speaker phone."

The youngest Winchester pressed the button and lodged the phone down on the wobbly desk. "Hey, Caleb."

"Not quite, baby."

It was a different voice but Harry knew right away that it was the demon that had escaped him in Hill City.

"What do you want Meg?" Dean growled down into the phone, ignoring the surprised look Harry sent him. Who was Meg?

The demon ignored Dean's question.

"Sammy, sweetie, not that I don't love chatting with you but I'm looking for a mutual friend of ours_. Haaaaarry, _come back out and play."

The ex-wizard made to say something but Dean covered his mouth with a callous hand, shaking his head slightly.

"We don't know no Harrys, bitch," the older brother snarled into the mobile. "So stop playing around and tell us what you really want."

There was a muffled sound on Meg's end of the line, like someone was struggling, before the demon answered. "Dean, I know _you're_ not the brains of the operation there but give me some credit. When things didn't go as planned in Kansas, I went to the source."

Harry's knees went weak as Caleb's voice filled the lines, yelling at the Winchesters frantically.

"Sam? Dean? Is Harry there? Don't let this bitch get her hands on him!"

The smaller wizard tired to pull Dean's hand off his mouth but the other hunter was stronger than he was, even as panic and adrenaline surged through his veins.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh made them all pause. "Shut the hell up!" Meg snarled at their friend before speaking back into the phone.

"I know he's there with you. Come on, Harry. Aren't you going to say hi to an old friend?"

Caleb screamed as the demon tortured him, his frantic panting filling the air as Meg held the phone close to him.

"I'll kill him," it said, all sing-song and perky. Harry thrashed in Dean's arms, trying to say something but John flicked his head and Dean pulled them away from the phone, stumbling to the floor as Harry's legs gave out.

"Caleb," John said sternly, surprising them all. The man on the other line nearly sobbed in relief.

"John!" he cried, his voice distant as Meg tried to shut up him. Dean held Harry down as he tried to get back up with trembling knees. "John, keep him safe! Don't let her get Harry!"

"I promise." John said as Meg let out a furious yell and Caleb began to choke. Dean's hand didn't stray from Harry's mouth, even as it slipped in a sudden wetness. This was Sirius all over again.

Caleb took forever to die, choking and gasping on his blood as Meg panted into the mobile. When the fallen hunter fell silent, she spoke.

"You could have saved him, Harry. Now he's just another person who died for you. Who's next?"

The line went dead but nobody moved to turn it off. Dean slipped his hand off Harry's mouth but didn't move from his spot, curled around the smaller hunter like he could keep him safe from this.

"She would have killed him anyway," John said gruffly, covering his face with a trembling hand. Sam stood against the far wall, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered against the short, messy hairs on Harry's nape.

Harry swallowed a sob and said, "I know."

* * *

First light found Harry silent as he sat in the back of the impala, his arms wrapped around his chest as he stared at the tiniest rip in the upholstery on the back of Sam's seat. The silence in the car was unnerving when both Winchesters were so used to bickering over the best way to stay off the Interstate, how the hunt couldn't possibly be a zombie epidemic or why in the hell the shotgun has to shut his cakehole.

Dean's eyes kept flicking from the road to the rearview mirror and he fidgeted in his seat, like maybe he wanted to say something. Sam looked over at him, wanting to encourage him but when it came to Harry; his older brother was, well, a chicken-shit.

"Jimmy will be down to get your car by tomorrow," Dean said into the silence and Sam wanted to groan in frustration.

Harry hummed in the back just loud enough to hear over the rumble of the engine.

Silence reigned again.

Sam glanced over at his brother was surprised at the amount of grief he saw in Dean's eyes; sure Caleb had been a close friend but he was closer to their father than anyone.

Except Harry.

It clicked into place with a sudden clarity that jolted him into action- Dean was torn up over Harry's grief.

Sam sighed, filled with the knowledge that he would have to be the one to bridge the widening gap between their new friend and his brother.

"I'm sorry about Caleb."

Harry tensed so hard the air around him seemed to crackle. The radio popped on, startling Dean, and the impala swerved on the road.

"What the hell?"

Sam flicked it off with an uneasy feeling. "Nothing could have saved him- Meg is psychotic."

The overhead light flickered as Harry snapped, "I don't want to talk about it."

Dean was right- that was annoying. Had Sam been that frustrating after- after Jessica? He hoped not.

"She was fishing for information, Harry. Whatever she wants you for, Caleb wanted to protect you from-"

The impala began to splutter and shake under them as Harry sat forward and spat, "What part of 'I don't want to talk about it' don't you understand?"

"We just want to make sure you don't do something- that you don't get...screw it, something stupid when we find the Demon," Dean said gruffly, peering at the dash as the car seemed to shake off its bitch fit and Harry took a deep, steadying breath.

"I won't do anything stupid, Dean…but no one else is dying because of me. Not anymore."

"Nobody's dying," Dean said firmly, his eyes locking with Harry's in the mirror, "nobody."

The ex-wizard looked away first, clearing his throat loudly before he frowned. "You keep saying when we find the Demon. What exactly are we going to do? Exorcize it? Bind it to a rock? Ask it to leave us alone?"

Sam turned in his seat to smile back at the smaller hunter, "God, I've wanted to tell you about this ever since we met."

"It's true, man," Dean said with an eye roll, "Dad almost had to sit on him."

Harry blinked at them, thinking back. "Does this have to do with why you all called that demon Meg?"

"It's the name she gave me before I knew she was possessed," Sam said tightly, "we ran into her during a hunt in Chicago-"

"She turned out to be the hunt," Dean interrupted, shrugging as his brother glared at him.

"Anyway, Dad found us about the same time her demonic pit bulls did and we had to split up. A few weeks later Dean and I were hunting a group of vampires when Dad showed up again and asked for our help," he studied Harry intently, "what do you know of Samuel Colt?"

"Nothing," the smaller hunter said promptly, "I've only being doing this for a quarter of the time you have, Sam."

"Right. Sorry," Sam said with a sheepish smile, "Samuel Colt was a hunter- one of the….pioneers of hunters I guess you could say. Rumor has it he made a gun that could kill anything before he and this gun disappeared from history."

"That's great, really," Harry said sarcastically, "thanks for the history lesson."

The youngest hunter sighed. "He made a _supernatural _gun. That could _kill anything_."

The pieces clicked together slowly for the backseat hunter, his eyes widening as it all sunk in. "When you say anything-"

"Anything," Dean said with a smug smile, "vampires, ghosts, werewolves, shapeshifters, demons…"

Harry swallowed, remembering Darcy McGill. "What about the person the demon is riding? If you shoot to kill-"

"We're going to save a lot more people by offing this thing than we will by sending it back to hell." Dean said softly, his hands curling around the steering wheel tightly. Sam looked down at his hands, silent but resolute.

Harry was glad someone was- he swallowed down the nauseous feeling that something wicked was heading their way.

* * *


	8. Part Eight

Part Eight

Cedar City had one huge hospital and one very disorganized records room.

Sam looked like he wanted to cry as he swiped a finger through the thick layer of dust on the nearest box.

"We just need the birth records for babies turning six months old this week, boys." John said pragmatically, flipping over the lids of a rather battered looking filing box.

"Right." Sam said with a firm nod. "So, logically, it should be near the front of the room."

Dean grabbed the box closest to the door and pulled out the topmost file.

"January 10th, 1928."

"Or not." Harry said lightly, making his way further into the room.

They worked quickly, leaving in pairs to go get coffee or gas station-style sandwiches.

John found the first family- The Brewers- four hours into searching the room. Sam found the last- Melissa McCowan- nearly six.

"Two families." Harry said as they dragged Sam away from the mess of the filing room before he tried to alphabetize each and every file. "Wow. I was expecting a bit more of a challenge."

John tugged his tie loose as they reached the hospital parking lot. "Sammy and I are going to go get us some grub. I want you and Harry to check the guns and ammo. Not a spot on them, Dean. Not a spot."

"Yes, Sir."

Harry crawled into the backseat and watched Dean round the front of the car, popping the buttons at his collar with a thick swallow.

Sam smirked at his father as his brother and Harry pulled out of the parking lot.

"Match-making, Dad?"

John's lips twitched as he shot his youngest an unreadable look. "I don't know what you're talking about Sammy. Get in the truck."

* * *

"Your gun collection makes mine look like a hobby," Harry grouched good-naturedly.

Dean smirked at him.

"Well….okay! Okay!" He said as Harry balled up a fist and punched him in the arm. "We just know a few people. I grew up on these guns," He pulled a battered sawed-off shotgun out from the pile with a fond grin. "I made this one myself."

"It's beautiful," Harry deadpanned, reaching out to grab the gun away and put it back into the 'checked' pile. Dean jerked it out of his reach.

The former-wizard shot him an unamused look. "You're seriously not doing this."

Dean shrugged, standing with one hand against Harry's chest and the other stretched out behind him. "Come on, Harry. Take the gun from me."

He edged the gun closer, taunting Harry into reaching for it again. The butt of the shotgun brushed his fingertips as Dean chuckled in glee.

"Come on…shorty."

Harry growled slightly at the taunt, his skin seeming to tighten at the playful flirting. He shifted from foot to foot, casually waiting out Dean's impatient energy, until the other hunter's arm dropped just enough for him to lunge and wrapped both of his arms around Dean's waist, plucking the gun from his hand as he tried to keep it out of reach.

"Ah-ha!" He crowed, raising the gun above his head in triumph. Dean scowled at him, his eyes smiling as Harry smirked. "Who's winning now-ahhh!"

Harry's knees hit the edge of the bed as the other hunter attempted to make one last grab for the shotgun and tripped over his feet. They tipped onto the sparsely covered bed, the muzzle of the gun smacking Harry in the side of the head as he fell onto his back.

Dean yelped, landing on his side with a leg thrown over the smaller hunter's waist, cussing up a blue streak. "You okay?" He asked, pushing up to loom over Harry.

"Bugger." The ex-wizard groaned, rubbing the lump already forming under his messy hair. Dean, much to his surprise, burst into loud laughter.

Harry blinked up at him, hand still firmly on his head.

"It's the accent." Dean admitted, patting the spot just over Harry's heart on his chest. "It's easy to forget you've got that 'Bond. James Bond.' thing going for you."

The younger hunter smiled slightly, comfortable and warm as Dean's laughter vibrated into his own chest. The smile fell and he looked away.

"Yes." He admitted. "Caleb told me it would be best to lose any kind of distinguishing characteristics. I had to hide anything that connected me to home."

Dean didn't move the hand on Harry's chest, letting the warmth sink into the sensitive skin as he listened.

"Why'd you leave?"

Harry paused, taking the time to think the question over carefully. He'd left for a lot of reasons, most of them his fault. Most of them not.

"People blamed me for things that were out of my control. Close people; people I would have liked to call my family." Harry cleared his throat loudly. "Anyone who didn't blame me, expected things- great things- from me. Things I couldn't possibly be for them, you know?"

Dean nodded, bumping his chin against Harry's shoulder. "I know."

The slam of a door and Sam's loud, laughing voice made them spring up from the bed in panic. By the time John and the youngest Winchester opened the door, Harry and Dean were sorting the gun's again, the moment over but not forgotten.

* * *

They ate their burgers and overly salty fries in that pre-battle silence Harry had gotten more than his share of during his seventh year. John made them go over the plan for that night's possible attack as they waited for the night to creep up on them.

"I want a shot at this thing too." Harry had said darkly when he saw the plan involved a lot less involvement from his part. "It killed my _family_."

The older hunter looked like he would argue the fact until he caught Dean's eye and rubbed his beard tiredly. Where'd his authority go? "Alright, Harry. I won't keep you from this."

By the time they left- just after sunset- the plan was still rather overly protective on the part of Sam and Harry but it didn't put them too far on the sidelines to be of any help.

The first family lived in a small, two-level house on the east side of town. The impala stood out like a sore thumb nestled between the snot green Smart Car and the showy, red convertible.

John rang them once he'd found a secure position around the back of the house. Dean let the mobile ring, grinning wildly at Sam's eye roll as the beginning of AC/DC's 'Son of a Bitch' played.

He called back, hanging up after the agreed on five rings went through.

"Eyes peeled, guys." He said as he stuffed his mobile back into his jacket pocket.

Then all they could do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Shouldn't it have shown up already?" Harry had asked near midnight. The silence was starting to get unnerving.

"Something's not right." Sam whispered desperately.

"Yeah?" Dean whispered back, even though no one would hear them.

"She's a single mother for one, when the yellow-eyed demon usually goes after families."

"She's one of two families here in town with a baby that will be turning six months old in a week." Harry said soothingly. "Perhaps this isn't the house it will strike?"

Sam made to reply when a loud, high-pitched scream broke the night.

"Go!" Dean hissed as they jumped from their seats, not even taking the time to shut the car doors properly. The youngest hunter's legs ate up the ground between the impala and the front door quickly, kicking the door of its hinges by the time Harry and Dean hit the stairs.

They heard John force his way in through the back door, splintering wood and angry curses following them up the stairs as the woman's scream ripped through the air.

The only door not open did nothing to muffle the terrified mother trapped behind it. Dean took a foot to the door this time, the flimsy lock buckling under the strength of kick.

Melissa lay face down on the floor as Harry and Dean took point, letting Sam and John rush in armed with the Colt.

Sam dashed over to the still woman, gently turning her over onto her back. He paused. "She's not hurt."

John kept the Colt out as he crept over to the baby's cradle near the window and tensed. "There's no kid here."

Harry felt that disturbing tingle of foreboding at the silence. "There's nothing here…we should leave, now."

John stared down hard at the cradle. "Take the girl, Sam."

Melissa's head lolled on his shoulder as the tall hunter easily lifted her into his arms. She groaned but stayed unconscious as Dean and Harry took guard around Sam.

They maneuvered down the stairs slowly, useless guns out and pointed at shadows until they reached the landing and Dean flew into the wall with a hard smack.

A tall, handsome man with dark hair and a cruel smirk flashed past Harry's eyes as he tackled Sam, knocking the suddenly very conscious Melissa out of his arms.

"It's a trap!" John snarled, taking aim with the Colt as the handsome, possessed man started to beat the holy hell out of Sam's jaw.

"Haaaarrry." Melissa- no _Meg_- cooed as she flicked out with her arm and tossed him right across room. The air left his lungs in a whoosh as his back took out the small wooden table and knocked over the chairs in the kitchen.

The Colt fired off as the former wizard tried to pull himself to his feet. Meg screamed and Harry staggered to his feet just in time to catch Dean as he was telekinetically tossed his way. The whole house seemed to shudder as Sam and John quickly followed suit and Meg shouted something in Latin.

"What did she do?" Harry asked as a supernatural wind picked up and blew his hair into his eyes. Sam cursed as his head whipped to the side and he fell to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, unable to help as he was subjected to same treatment.

John screamed as something invisible slammed Harry back against the hardwood floor and tore into his back. There seemed to be three of them as the one trying to turn his back into a scratch post leapt towards Dean when the older Winchester brother staggered to his feet, bloody.

"It's Davaes!" Sam shouted, kicking out at whatever had racked its claws across his cheek. "Shadow demons!"

Harry jumped away from his spot on the floor, watching in shock as the shadows on the wall attacked them. Shadow demons- how did he stop shadows?

John slumped against the blood-speckled cupboards as the demon let him go and jumped for Harry again. His magic crackled under his skin, going on the defense as he remembered a time when a muggleborn witch blasted the holy hell out of a patch of shadow-loving Devil's Snare.

His hands lit up like tiny suns- bright, hot light slipping between his fingers like water. The demons screeched in pain, their shadowy figures burning up on the wall. The light faded from Harry's hands as quickly as it had come as his shoulder tingled and stung. Dean and Sam stopped thrashing on the floor, gasping for air as John levered himself to his feet and shouted "Scatter!" before tucking his arm around his ribs and high-tailing it out the back door.

Harry had no idea what in the hell that meant in Winchester-world but Dean surged to his feet at the command, grabbing Harry's elbow and the back of his brother's jacket as he pulled them out of the house.

"Get in!" he said hoarsely, wiping the blood from his eyes as they reached the impala. Sam shook his head and pushed his brother around to the passenger's side.

"You can't drive like that- we'll end up in a ditch!"

It was a testament to how badly Dean was injured that he didn't put up any kind of a fight. Harry winced as the muscles in his back protested any kind of movement. Warm, sticky blood coated in inside of his jacket and he hissed loudly as Sam peeled out of park and sped away down the street.

It had been another disaster, but thankfully this time, no one had died.

* * *

"What in the hell was that?" Dean asked when they made it safely to the city limits. Harry supposed his was lucky the Winchester brothers had held off his back for this long. He shook his head, dazed at the mere memory.

"I'm pretty sure it was major wandless magic- as impossible as that sounds."

Dean looked at him, his face empty of any kind of gentle emotion other than anger and fear. "Wandless magic?" he repeated, obviously doubtful.

Harry mulled over telling them the truth, but it had been years and he wanted someone- he wanted _Dean_ to know who he truly was. "I'm- I was a wizard."

"A wizard?" The older Winchester sibling repeated again, his eyes wide with surprise. Sam, silent until this point, elbowed his brother in the ribs. He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke.

"It's not that hard to believe. Parts of Europe and Asia have an entire society outside of the non-magical community hidden away and thriving We've dealt with more than our share of witch covens over the years…"

Harry shook his head, knowing what they were thinking. "No, I was different. I use an actual magic wand; I fly a broomstick in my spare time. I can make potions. I went to Wizarding School. Housewives who sit at home and chant in languages they can barely pronounce are not witches."

"Wizarding school?" Dean repeated again and Harry was afraid he was going to have to smack the man out of his funk. "Like _hocus pocus, abra cadabra_ wizard?"

Harry frowned at him darkly. "I've never said those words in my entire life."

"So what _do_ you do?" Sam asked, seamlessly navigating the car around a turn. "You said that was wandless magic back there. You sounded so surprised."

Harry sighed, rubbing his hair tiredly. "We learn magic. Spells, potions, and magical history. We learn about plants and magical creatures and defense against the Dark Arts- but we _have_ to use a wand."

"Do something." Dean said suddenly. "Pull a rabbit out of your hat."

Harry let out a slow, angry breath. This hardass attitude of Dean's was beginning to bug him. "That's where it gets complicated. There are things you don't- I can't just go around pulling rabbits out of hats!"

"Did Caleb know?" Sam asked in the silence that followed. Dean fidgeted in the seat beside him.

Harry looked down at his hands, remembering his first hunter friend and how he'd never gotten up the nerve to tell him who he really was.

"He suspected, I think." He finally admitted. Caleb hadn't been a hunter for nothing, and Harry didn't hide the halves of his wand where no one would see them. "Magic, when it isn't being channeled or used, has a habit of breaking free when a witch or wizard becomes highly emotional. Fear, anger, happiness, pain; are all triggers."

"So the flickering at the motel was you?" Sam asked softly, as if he was putting together the mysteries of the world. Harry nodded.

"If I feel…threatened, my magic seems to react accordingly. That's why I'm more than certain Caleb suspected something."

"You heal faster than normal." Sam told him suddenly. "Your fingers, little nicks and cuts- Dean's been a klutz and you've barely gotten a scratch. The cuts on your shoulder from the daevas- I bet they're nearly healed."

Harry frowned at him. "I always just assumed that was my magic's natural way of using the excess."

"You don't, you know." Dean made a waving windmill motion with his arm, looking like Seamus in their First Year. It reminded Harry of floating feathers, giant trolls and best friends.

The ex-wizard took out the two pieces of his wand and held them out for Dean to see. "I can't. Not anymore. Not for years."

Both of the Winchester brothers seemed to realize the broken wand was a big deal. Sam cleared his throat and sent Dean an intent look. His brother's eyebrows jumped slightly before he cleared his throat as well. It was obvious that something was being said, even if it wasn't voiced for all to hear.

Sam seemed to disagree with whatever Dean was pointedly _not_ saying before the older Winchester threw his hands up in the air with a huff.

"I don't think the healing has anything to do with your magic, Harry." Sam said over Dean's dark mutterings. "Two of the children we've met so far, whose mothers have died in a fire in their nursery, have displayed….abilities."

Harry leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Abilities?"

"Psychic abilities." Dean snapped out. "Visions of the future, telekinesis, prophetic dreams, weird vibes- that sort of thing."

Harry sat back in his seat slowly, watching it all come together. Visions and the healing.

Harry had survived the Killing Curse twice, a bite from a Basilisk, an attack by over a hundred dementors, the TriWizard Tournament, a possession from the Dark Lord, the war….

"It all coming into a scary sort of understanding?" Dean asked from the front seat. His eyes were dark with sympathy. Harry shook himself from his thoughts and frowned.

"No actually. You said, the demon, he only attacks on the six month of birth. I was fifteen months old when Azazel and- when he attacked me."

Sam's head whipped around to stare at him. Dean smacked his shoulder hard. "Eyes to the front!"

"Dean! He doesn't fit the pattern."

His brother scowled. "I heard Sammy, but we're not going to get any answers if Highway Patrol has to scrape us off the pavement."

Something tickled Harry's brain, teasing him with the idea that he was missing something very obvious here. "Hang on…" He said suddenly, his bright eyes darting back and forth between the two brothers. "Your mother was killed by Azazel. When Sam was a baby. You said that, back at the motel."

Dean looked like a loaded spring, waiting to pounce. Sam cleared his throat more than once, his own eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. Harry looked at the youngest Winchester, studying him. "You're one of the psychic kids too."

No one confirmed it but the former-wizard was certain. He could feel it in the easy way Sam seemed to connect with him. Something like betrayal and hurt tried to crawl up Harry's throat. He swallowed it back.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why don't you tell us who else was at your house the night your parents died?" Dean asked, having caught the slip earlier.

Harry looked down, biting his lip. "Now is not the time or place for it, and I'd rather not have to explain myself twice."

"He's right, Dean. We know Harry's on our side or the demons wouldn't have tried so hard to kill him. Let's wait until we meet up with Dad back at the motel."

Dean nodded, slumping down in the seat to pick at the healing wounds on his forehead.

Harry slid down across the bench seat in the back. His hand crept up and under the neck of his jacket and shirt, to feel the smooth seamless skin left where a Shadow demon had put its mark a little under an hour ago.

* * *


	9. Part Nine

Part Nine

John's truck wasn't in the lot by the time they returned to the motel. Harry felt that quiet feeling of panic in his gut at the sight of the darkened motel room windows; the exact same feeling he'd had the night he took five of his friends into the Ministry of Magic to rescue a fake-Sirius.

Not a single shred of evidence that John Winchester had ever been there remained in the rooms. Sam's laptop was still out on the table. Dean's extra pair of boots were drying by the stove. Harry's shirt was still tangled up in the sheets from the roughhousing that afternoon….

But John was gone.

And so was the Colt.

"Dad?" Dean called out, even though they knew he was gone. Sam looked around the room, studying it for any kind of message or hint of a struggle. Harry hung back by the door, unsure and angry.

"Dean." Sam said softly, calling his brother over to the computer. Harry could see there was a file open on the screen and crossed the room to join the brothers.

John's face came up, blurry and out-of focus. He seemed to fiddle with the settings, cursing modern technology and turning the picture black and white and sepia before it leveled out to something of a visible picture.

"Boys," He said gruffly. "I know you're going to be pissed as Hell when you find this, but by now I'm sure you've noticed that I'm gone."

"No shit, dad." Sam whispered at the screen.

John clasped his hands together in front of himself, sitting back against the chair as the screen pixeled any sudden movements. "I want you to understand; you're my boys- I love you. I know I don't say it near enough but I do…and that means I want to do anything to keep you safe. That's why I took the Colt. I'm ending it, before they try and take anything else from us again."

Harry turned away from the laptop, furious. "Damn it! He promised I'd get a shot at this thing! Son of a bitch!"

"Harry." John's picture said on cue, as if he knew how the younger hunter was going to react. "You're probably kicking up a storm over this. You've the right, I'm sure and while I know you're not one of my boys, I want you to stay away. Caleb asked us Winchesters to look out for you; it was his last request and by everything holy we're going to do it."

Harry put a shaky hand to his forehead at the mention of his friend. He missed Caleb like a phantom limb. Dean reached out and pulled Harry closer, his hand tight and comforting.

"Stay with my sons." John continued on. "Whatever the demon wants with Sam and Harry, I'll take care of it. This isn't just about Mary and Jessica; it's about avenging everyone that son of a bitch ever hurt."

John seemed to hesitate, mulling over something before shaking his head and reaching forward to turn off the cam. "Goodbye, boys."

The screen went black and Sam hit the stop button before the program could attempt to replay John Winchester's last message.

* * *

Dean paced around the cabin like an angry, overprotective mother hen.

"This is the stupidest thing, Dad has ever done." Sam said darkly, kicking the table. Harry could feel the undercurrent of unease and fear from the youngest Winchester easily. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Do we go after him?"

"No." Both Winchesters said at once, even when Dean grimaced and looked away. Harry gapped at them.

"He's your father-"

"He's given us an order. He's left with the Colt. What could we possibly do to help him now?" Dean snapped and Harry took a moment to really look at the other hunters. Sam looked small and flat, like a picture without any color. Dean was a twitching ball of anger and fear and worry. They looked the perfect picture of himself when Voldemort tricked him into going after Sirius. Harry felt like a jerk.

He put his hands over his face, pushing the palms in against the pounding in his eyes.

"Fuck, this is so screwed up."

Dean stopped pacing suddenly, like he'd run into an invisible wall.

"You need to tell us what happened the night your parents died."

"Dean!" Sam said sharply. They understood more than anyone that family-especially the ones you'd lost- were sacred. "Now is not the time-"

Harry tried to bite back his anger at being asked something so personal and painful, vaguely realizing it was Dean's need to do something that made him lash out. Still, it hurt.

"What do you think happened that night? The Demon killed my mum!"

"That's not the only thing that happened." Dean said darkly, finally calling Harry on his little slip-up in the car. "Our dad is out there right now, hunting down this demon because it's after you and Sammy. Don't you think we deserve to know?"

"_Dean._" Sam said sharply, understanding that his brother felt the need to lash out- even at Harry. He felt his own curiosity stir at the mention of their friend's mysterious past but it wasn't something they should force him into sharing. He knew that one better than anyone did.

Harry shuffled over to a bed and dropped down on it, wincing as the springs protested his sudden weight. "Sam, it's fine. Dean's right- you deserve to know the whole story." He huffed at his own irrational anger. "I _want_ you to know what happened."

The youngest Winchester looked at his brother for guidance but Dean's gaze was full of Harry.

"What do you know about the Wizarding World, particularly that of Britain?" He asked Sam who shrugged and sat down on the other bed. Dean opted to stay standing.

"It's been quiet for over five years now. The last major bit of news I'd heard was before I went to Stanford. Some sort of dark wizard had been defeated."

"Voldemort." Harry supplied. "He returned during my fourth year at Hogwarts."

Sam blinked at him. "You went to Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded quickly.

"Hogwarts…is that the magical school you were telling us about?" Dean asked gruffly, interested against his will.

"Yes. It's the best school of magic in all of Europe."

Dean hummed. "What does that have to do with your parents?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "It's all connected really. Maybe you should tell me everything you know about Voldemort before we start."

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he talked.

"I know that he was thought to have been defeated well over twenty years ago. He attacked a family- a magical family…." Sam paused, stroking his lips in thought. He knew that very few hunters chose to acknowledge the existence of a peaceful society that actively used magical powers. Most were even denied the right to some of the things he knew about the world Harry came from- because their knowledge would put that world in danger.

He remembered the name with a snap of his fingers. "The Potters. Pastor Jim kept me updated because I was curious why very few hunters even knew of the Wizarding World- but I thought he was joking when he said that the Darkest Wizard to ever live had been defeated by a baby!"

A sharp intake of breath pulled both sets of eyes over to Dean. He stared at Harry in disbelief. The ex-wizard smiled self- depreciatingly.

"Hello, my name is Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

* * *

"So you're saying Voldemort was only informed of half of this 'prophecy' before he rushed over to your house and tried to gank you?" Dean clarified swiftly. He was sitting next to Harry, after having already gone over this part of the story three times.

"Yes, but it's a lot more complicated than that." He said before hesitating. He didn't want to tell the Winchesters about the horcruxes- about the fact that he had been walking around with a pieces of Voldemort's soul inside himself for nearly seventeen years. Harry felt sullied enough as it was.

He pushed aside the notion with an internal huff. Coming clean came with the idea that Harry would be revealing all- not hand-picked bits and pieces of his past.

"Voldemort was terrified of death." Harry tried to explain. "He was narcissistic. Megalomaniac. Psychotic….but he was human. At least he had been, until he found a way to make himself immortal."

Sam shook his head. "It's not possible- not without _huge_ repercussions."

Harry nodded. "I know. Voldemort made of himself- of his soul- seven horcruxes. He literally ripped his soul into seven pieces and hid them into objects he thought were of value. Treasures, trinkets, his pet snake….and me."

Dean jerked on the bed, turning around to grasp Harry's arm. It didn't feel like any sort of rejection but he wasn't about to take his chances.

"The night Voldemort tried to kill me, he accidentally hid a piece of his battered soul inside my body. I don't know where in the world Azazel comes into play but Voldemort came to my house that night, killed my father and went up into my nursery with the intent to kill me."

"He didn't though." Sam answered. "That was the whole point. You're famous because he didn't kill you."

Harry smiled darkly. "The Boy-Who-Lived. I only survived because my mother died in my place. Dumbledore- my old Headmaster- said that her death was a sacrifice, the deepest, oldest kind of protection magic there is. When Voldemort turned his wand against me, used the Killing Curse against me, it rebound upon himself and ripped him from his body."

"Holy shit." Dean muttered in awe. Sam looked like a sideswiped puppy, hair dangling in his big eyes, hanging on his every word.

Harry pulled up his fringe to reveal the scar he still carried on his forehead. "The only mark left on me that night was this." He frowned. "This is where things get…odd."

"How so?" Sam asked.

Harry scratched his chin slowly. "I've seen the Killing Curse work before. It doesn't leave a mark on the victim. It just looked like they lay down and went to sleep. I've been told though, that my house was burnt to the ground. It was completely destroyed by the attack."

Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "The demon could do that. His calling card is fire."

Harry leaned against the other man, taking comfort in his presence. Sam looked disturbed by something.

"It still doesn't explain why you were fifteen months old when he attacked. Or why your twenty-four now, while the rest of us are twenty-two…"

Harry shrugged in response, just as lost. "Could the charms and spells on my parent's house kept the demon out? The Charm my parents used, you could stand right outside this window, look in and not see me if I cast it to do so. It's only broken if the Secret-Keeper reveals the location to someone they're not supposed to."

Sam huffed tiredly and rubbed the top of his head. "I don't know- maybe it would keep the demon at bay. I mean, salt keeps them out and they react to holy water…..it stands to reason that magic would be the only thing, other than a psychic ability to hide oneself, to keep it out."

Harry closed his eyes. "And when they were betrayed, it became open season. All because these things wanted me."

"Hey." Dean said sternly, looking from Harry to his brother. "This isn't your fault. Either of you. Demons can't own people; whether they wanted you or not it's not their choice."

Harry and Sam smiled at the reminder that Dean was on their side still. The smaller hunter looked at Sam suddenly. "Your healing ability theory is looking to be more and more correct the more I think about it."

With that, Harry pulled away from Dean and pulled up on the hem of his shirt. He turned his back to the Winchesters, their startled gasps all the proof he needed to know that the cuts on his back and shoulders were fully healed.

"That night, if the demon did set my house on fire- then I came out of it unscathed. A single scar? After all that evil came after me, that's all I end up with?"

Callous fingertips traced over the pink skin, touching it as if it was tissue paper. The healed area was sensitive to the touch, more so because it was Dean's hand on Harry's bare skin.

If Sam hadn't been four feet away, Harry would have leaned into the touch.

He pulled his shirt back on swiftly, smiling shyly at the smirk on Dean's face. Sam rolled his eyes- it figured Dean would take the opportunity to flirt. "So he somehow returned to his body during your fourth year."

Harry nodded solemnly. "He'd had this….intricate plan about securing me for his resurrection. I was illegally entered in the Triwizard Tournament; a contest between magical schools to see which one has the best students." He explained at the confused expressions each Winchester had adopted. "He used some sort of mad spell- took his father's bone, my blood and the hand of the man who'd betrayed my parents. I escaped but the damage had already been done."

Harry rubbed the scar near his wrist that looked more like a botched suicide attempt than the wound that helped resurrect the Dark Lord. "The government- the magical government mind you- didn't believe me when I'd said that Voldemort had returned. The minister did everything in his power to ridicule me and make me seem like some sort of delusional nutcase."

Dean frowned. "Five years ago…you were what seventeen? Eighteen? How'd you stop him?"

The former wizard pulled out the broken halves of his wand, feeling how the cracked ends had gone soft and smooth with age. "After I became aware of the Horcruxes, two of my best friends and I set off to find the others and destroy them."

Sam straightened like someone had burned him. "Destroy- what about the one inside you?"

Harry looked at them both, not regretting his sacrifice that night, but still grieving his own personal lost. "I didn't know about the Horcrux I had become until the very end. So I walked into Voldemort's camp that night, unarmed, and I let him kill me."

Dean shuddered by his side, like someone had turned on the Magic Fingers without his permission. Harry leaned in closer, offering some kind of comfort with an internal sigh.

They were so screwed up.

"You died?" Sam asked softly, eyes wide. His brain seemed to catch up with the tale and damn, wasn't he a smart one? "He didn't kill you…he killed himself?"

Harry nodded. "Once we had destroyed all of the Horcruxes, Voldemort's own stupidity killed him. When I died, I died in the place of my friend and family, giving them protection from the dark witches and wizards in his circle…and I unknowingly destroyed my own magical core."

"….so you have no magic?" Dean asked suddenly, seeming to remember his harsh words in the car. "Shit, I'm sorry, man-"

"It's okay, you didn't know." Harry interjected. "And no; I haven't lost my magic, just the ability to _harness_ it at will."

"I get it." Sam said nodding as he worked everything out. "The wandless magic? You just can't control it anymore."

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes I can. Sometimes, it will work and I'll think I'm fixed but it never lasts. I guess I just have it build up enough excess magic for it to _need _to be used."

"Dude, my car." Dean said suddenly, mouth slightly open in surprise. "It went spastic on the way here."

Harry felt his face grow hot at the reminder. "I- well, most magic is connected to a witch's or wizard's emotions. When it gets to be too much, I usually find myself with accidentally unlocking doors or blowing up electronics."

"You're never touching the laptop." Sam said with a teasingly fearful expression before he winced sharply and grabbed his head.

"Crap." He hissed, leaning forward as if he were about to be ill. "Dean! I think-"

His brother shot forward, wrapping his hands around Sam's wrists as he tried to keep the younger hunter from falling onto his head.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, trying not to panic. They couldn't lose another person, not now. "Was it the daevas? Is- is it his brain?"

Dean shook his head frantically. "Visions- these are Sam's visions."

God, that was the reason this looked sickeningly familiar.

Sam gasped and trembled on his knees, reminding Harry that the youngest Winchester was only twenty-two; was the baby of the lot of them. He wished desperately that he could take this pain into himself- heal someone else for once.

Harry put his arm around Sam's back as the taller man spasmed once more and sagged in their grip; the vision releasing him.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly as his brother winced and tried to shield his eyes from the lamp light. Harry pulled the plug from the wall violently and watched the Winchester brothers take care of each other.

"Dean!" Sam tried to jerk out of their grip weakly. "We've got to go to California! Dad's gone- he's in California!"

Dean looked torn, still holding his brother's wrists tightly. "Sam, Dad gave us an order-"

Sam shook his head wildly, his eyes wide and terrified in his face. "Dean, dad's going to die if we don't get to California. He's-" here the trembling psychic's voice broke. "The demon is going to throw him off a cliff, Dean. _Dad._"

The blond hunter made a small, hurt noise as he stared at Sam. "California, Sammy…that's a big state, man."

"Fort Bragg!" Harry gasped, startling them all. "The other omens- they were in Fort Bragg."

"That's- that's on the coast," Sam muttered, Harry's excitement catching. "Dean, I've been there before. I know where he's going!"

"Hang on a minute, guys!" Dean said tightly, letting Sam go as he stood up. "I mean, this is Dad, we're talking about. The man doesn't just walk into a trap."

"He did tonight." Sam pointed out, gently touching the loosely taped cuts across his cheek.

"We all did." Dean shot back. "Hell Sam, how do you know that _this_ isn't a damn trap?"

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Harry whispered, his face full of earnest grief and _Caleb_.

The older hunter swallowed, remembering the feel of Harry in his arms as they listened to a good friend gasp and choke on his own blood. He didn't want that to be him this time, selfish as it was.

"Fuck it," Dean swore, running a hand through his hair and wincing as he accidentally hit his slashed up forehead. "Grab Sam, Harry and get your ass in the car."

They two psychics grinned in relief.

* * *


	10. Part Ten

Part Ten

John kept the Colt fitted against his ribs as he broke speed limits in three states trying to put enough distance between his boys and his trail on the demon. The butterfly strips on his cheek stuck to the tiny whiskers of his beard as he guzzled cup after cup of drive-thru coffee on his way to California.

Fort Bragg was a sprawling coastal city filled with happy people and beach covered shores. It didn't look like the kind of place a demon would hide in.

Two hospitals later, John had found no reason for the damned thing to be haunting the coast of sunny California.

Until he found the church.

Nestled out on the top of a fucking cliff, the old church was rumored to be the oldest building for miles, owned by the old priest and his family- the Patersons- for generations.

The city's library was overstuffed and filled with Fort Bragg's history, right down to the very date the church was built, who built it and who had owned the land.

Colt.

Thunder clouds rolled in over the ocean as John rubbed his face tiredly and counted the days of signs- six. Azazel would show up that night and despite his plans otherwise, John was going to be there to meet the fucker, the Colt in hand.

* * *

The Redwood coast was an accident waiting to happen.

"Are you sure this is the place, Sam?" Dean asked for what seemed like the millionth time. They'd had to ditch the impala at the bottom of the hill- the road was nothing but rocks and washed out mud this time of the year.

"I'm positive. It looks exactly like the place in my vision."

Harry was still reeling over watching the youngest Winchester fall to the floor of their motel room, clutching his head like it was about to split in two. The scene had been eerily familiar; reminding the older hunter of a time when painful visions were par for the course.

Sam faltered on the path, sliding back into Dean's chest as he tried to lead them up the side of the cliff. Harry had to grab a hold of the oldest brother's backpack to stop them both from tumbling down over the rocky edge. He pulled them back sharply, frustrated and more than a bit worried.

"Do I have to take point?" He snapped, his hand still wrapped in the strap of Dean's bag. "Because I will."

"You don't even know where to go!" Sam exclaimed, his cheeks pale in the moonlight. To be honest, the youngest hunter didn't look anywhere near well enough to be hiking, let alone facing off against a demon.

"Top of the cliff, right?" Harry shot back. "I highly doubt I could mess that up, even if I tried."

Sam opened his mouth again but his brother cut him off with a gentle tug.

"Harry's right. We go up smart or not at all."

The brothers looked like those people on the news who'd gotten lost in the woods for days, stumbling out covered in cuts and scrapes and world-weary expressions. Some of the panic in Sam's eyes dimmed as Dean grounded him with his simple presence.

"Let's go."

They reached the top of the cliff in fifteen minutes, silently taking in the quiet of the trees and the lack of wildlife. It was as if nature itself has deserted this place in preparation for what was coming.

"Remember seeing this before?" Dean asked his brother, as Harry cocked his shotgun.

"Yeah, Blackwater Ridge. Windego hunt." Sam added for the only non-Winchester.

"Evil scares off all the animals." Harry answered back as they all looked around the lumpy, uneven land at the top of the cliff for any sign of John.

"You said he falls off the edge? About where?" Dean asked gruffly. Sam started towards the sudden drop, peering out over at the ocean below, like perhaps they were too late.

Dean joined him and Harry rolled his eyes at the pair of worrywarts they made when their father was involved. He pulled them away from the drop, gesturing with his head at the church.

"The earth hasn't been disturbed. There are no other footprints Nobody has fallen off of here. Now can we please get our heads back into this hunt and perhaps check out the church? You did see him standing beside it, no?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he was standing right in front of the door."

"He's probably inside, scoping the place out." Dean guessed, quickening his pace. Harry jumped over a bolder-sized rock, landing silently beside the older brother when the doors to the church flew open and John strode out angrily, the expression on his face stopping them all in their spots.

A greying older man dressed in what looked to be a priest's robe stood behind him, blinking out at them curiously as John bellowed "What in the hell are you boys doing here? I told you to stay away!"

He was furious.

"You're in danger!" Harry supplied, not used to feeling John Winchester's wrath. The man could intimidate the devil if the mood took him.

"Dad, I had a vision." Sam said once his father had gotten close enough to speak to. "I saw you fall off the cliff top."

John paused at the revelation, a brief flicker of uncertainly steeling over his face as he turned to his oldest. "This true, Dean?"

"Yes sir. Sam remembered being here a few years back and it didn't take much to find out where the church was."

John rubbed his beard, looking around…almost nervously. "I don't like being out in the open like this, let's get back inside."

He turned back towards the church.

"Father Paterson, these are my boys, Sam and Dean and this here is their friend, Harry."

Each hunter nodded at their name, shifting anxiously as the quiet continued. John gave the older man a wan smile. "If we could continue our discussion inside-"

Father Paterson chuckled, shaking his head in a way that set off alarms in Harry's head.

He shuffled closer to John, who had no weapon at the ready and aimed his shotgun at the priest.

Sam and Dean were seconds behind him.

"Why go anywhere, Johnny-boy?" The priest asked in a strikingly different speech pattern. "The party's right here."

Paterson's eyes flashed yellow as an invisible force slammed into the four hunters. Sam collided with the boulder Harry had jumped earlier, his gun slipping from his grasp with a pained groan.

John hit the side of the church, pinned and helpless as Harry and Dean flew in opposite directions, the latter hitting the ground with unnatural force.

The former wizard's shotgun bounced off the hard, rocky surface of the edge of the cliff and skidded back towards his outstretched hand. Harry grabbed it and staggered to his feet- strangely unsurprised to find the demon had not pinned him like it had the Winchesters. It didn't think he was a threat.

The sound of the shotgun going off echoed loudly in his ears, mixing with the quick tattoo of his heart. The possessed priest jerked as the salt round hit him in the chest, not the least bit deterred as Harry made to pull off another shot.

Yellow-clouded eyes looked up from the mess of the old man's chest before Azazel laughed mockingly.

"Now, that's kind of annoying." He smirked as Harry tried to reload- a fat load of help _rock salt_ was going to be against the demon- and threw his hand out, telekinetically catching the other hunter in the chest. "Time to take out the trash."

Harry sailed backwards, bouncing harshly on the rocky ground. His hands grappled for purchase as he skidded over the muddy rocks.

Dean's voice was the last thing Harry heard as the cliff top abruptly stopped and the ground disappeared from underneath him.

* * *

It was almost surreal, each Winchester pinned down by Azazel, forced to watch as Harry disappeared over the edge of the cliff in John's place. Dean thrashed from his spot on the ground, kicking his legs out angrily as the demon laughed at him. The muscles in Sam's neck strained as he tried to peer over the rock at his back, hoping against hope that Harry had somehow not fallen to his death.

The cliff top stayed horribly empty.

"Son of bitch!" John roared, trying in vain to inch his hand to where the Colt was hidden in the small of his back.

Azazel turned to him sharply, a cruel smile pulled across the priest's face. "Aw, come on now, Johnny. You had to know someone was going over that edge." It laughed again.

"Just be thankful it wasn't you."

It crept closer now, a dark edge creeping into its tone. "No, I still have plans for you. Give me the Colt."

* * *


	11. Part Eleven

Part Eleven

Harry wasn't what one would call an avid swimmer. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd even been in enough water to swim in.

Still, he didn't remember the water ever being so _hard_.

It felt like slamming into the ground after a particularly bad Wonski Feint- one very breakable object smacking unflinchingly into an unmovable surface.

The pain was all encompassing- until he couldn't breathe.

Icy, cold ocean flooded into his nose and mouth, dulling everything as it covered his ears.

Harry tried to move, tried to kick his legs and propel himself towards the surface but the tide slipped firmly around his body and pulled him under.

As he hit the underwater cliff face, he felt his ribs crack.

Swallowing more water than was healthy, Harry tried to hold onto the rock as the tide threatened to pull him back into the black space behind him. He hit the cliff again before his numb fingers dug into a sharp groove and stayed.

Above and below him was a stretch of black. Harry didn't know which way was up or which was down as he clung to the rock and tried not to drown. His lungs burned for oxygen.

Automatically his body started to float towards the surface, startling the hunter into scrabbling for a better hold before common sense told him to let buoyancy do the work for him.

His head broke the surface half-heartedly as Harry fought to keep himself above the water. His first breathe turned into a choking fit as what felt like buckets of ocean water were forced out of his lungs and stomach.

God, he needed to get out of the water.

His glasses were a lost cause as he squinted for a break in the unforgiving face of the cliff- an incline, a beach anything. His left arm was completely numb and hung uselessly at his side, drifting with the pull of the water. His ribs burned from the pressure simply breathing put on them.

What looked like the road they'd driven in on could be seen from the water, which meant the car was somewhere near that. Harry needed to get back up there, get back to Sam and Dean and John before Azazel took anyone else from him.

Determined to ignore the pain, he set off towards the dip in the shoreline, his battered body slowly knitting itself back together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John laughed mockingly in the demon's face.

"The Colt? You think I was stupid enough to bring it with me?"

Azazel didn't answer his bluff, seeming to read his mind. It smiled chillingly.

"As if you could resist the temptation. I knew you'd show up guns blazing the moment you realized Utah was a trap, ready to avenge dear, sweet Mary."

John stared at the demon, his blood boiling at the mention of his wife. The gun in question felt like it was burning a hole in his back. "If you're so sure I have the damn thing, why don't you just take it?"

The first sign of irritation flitted across the priest's face at that. It backed off of John, straying mindlessly towards his struggling sons. "You know the lore just as I- I cannot take it. You must give the Colt to me."

"What do you want with it?" Sam snarled, out of breath. "Unless you're going to start picking off your own kind?"

Azazel smirked at him. "If you think the Colt is only a gun you're an idiot, Samuel. It has so much potential…"

"I'm going to kill you." Dean promised darkly, his eyes hard and unflinching. "I swear I will."

The yellow-eyed demon clicking his teeth in sympathy. "Aw. Is someone upset that I killed his boyfriend? Well," It amended with a shrug. "Almost boyfriend. Never did get the balls to tell him huh?"

Dean gritted his teeth and pushed against the ground again, still as helpless as before, when he watched Harry tumble over the edge.

Azazel, bored with the oldest Winchester brother quickly, turning to study Sam instead. "Now, here's one I won't be throwing off any cliffs. Out of all my Special Children I have to say, you're the most impressive Samuel."

"I'll work harder to be a disappointment," Sam hissed angrily. Azazel crouched down to his level, like a parent talking down to a bratty child.

"You Winchesters certainly get attached easily. Was Harry that important to you all? He was defective," the demon spat in disgust. "I couldn't get to the brat in time- he was the last damned wizard I ever visited. Too many protections." Shrugging off the attack on Harry's parents like it was an annoying little tidbit, Azazel studied Sam intently. "What do you say to helping a guy out here? Go get the Colt from daddy and I'll let you keep it- after I get what I want."

"What _do_ you want?" Sam asked, seeming to realize that they'd interrupted the demon by escaping the trap set by Meg.

Azazel shrugged causally. "Just a little something inside the church. You won't even know it's gone."

John sucked in a sharp breath, his lips drawn back into a surprised 'o'.

"He wants the knife."

"What knife?" Dean snapped from the ground, his energy spent. He'd stopped fighting the force holding him down, the grief on his face sharpening at the understanding that Harry wasn't just over the edge, hanging on for dear life.

"Some hunters believe that Samuel Colt didn't just stop at making a gun that could kill anything. They believe he went on to make seven more objects, among those a knife that could kill anything." John explained, like he couldn't believe it. He looked strange, pinned against the side of the church, his feet dangling with an expression of utter wonder on his face.

Azazel looked, not exactly surprised that John would know such a thing but oddly pleased at the notion. Like having the information made John a worthy adversary. "You are quite the historian, Johnny-boy."

"That still doesn't tell us why you need the Colt." Sam pointed out, suspicious.

The demon twirled towards him on the tips of his toes like this was all one big game to him. It probably was.

"Think of the Colt as the key to a very picky lock. Samuel Colt was a paranoid man- I need the Colt to get the knife."

"Don't give it to him," Dean called out, trying to raise his head. "No matter what he says- don't let him have it."

The dangerously playful air around the possessed man dropped like a stone as he turned away from Sam to pin his cold gaze on Dean.

"Think over this carefully, John. Who do I have to hurt before you'll do as I say?" It straightened from its crouched position beside his youngest boy. "Who else will die tonight before you hand over that gun to me?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His hands were a bloody mess by the time he climbed up the side of the embankment and reached the road.

Harry pulled himself up onto the edge, soaking wet and gasping for air. He rolled away from another possible drop back into the ocean and brought his hands up, watching in awe as the skin neatly knitted itself back together, leaving a sticky mess of blood, gravel and grass on the unblemished skin.

Harry stumbled to his feet with a groan, not surprised to find all of his previous injuries gone. It appeared as though his ability was growing in strength; healing his wounds faster each time.

The impala gleamed in the moonlight less than a mile up the road. Harry took off at a run, spurred on by his need to get back to the Winchesters. If they were still alive.

The thought only quickened his pace.

He ripped off his waterlogged jacket when he reached the car, shivering in the cold air as he searched the trunk for something powerful enough to take out the yellow-eyed demon.

"Fuck!" He cursed as each gun, each knife and flame-thrower were dismissed. Harry had nothing to help him, no tool or weapon or exorcism strong enough to take out the demonic son of a bitch once and for all.

Despair settled over him as his hands pulled the bag he'd packed back in Utah from the trunk. Azazel had Sam and Dean and John in his grasp while Harry- useless, self-healing, magic-less Harry- poked around in a bottomless bag for some kind of magic trick-

His hand wrapped around a long, slim stick, setting off a momentary shower of sparks as Harry's magic began to bubble within him. Eyes widening, the hunter pulled a very familiar object from the never-ending depths of the bag and smiled.

Maybe he had something after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John's face went slack at the threat to his boys, his whole body seizing up at the very thought. Guilt made the gun burned hotter it seemed, as the demon began to drift between Sam and Dean.

"Don't listen to him!" His youngest shouted desperately before Azazel backhanded the air and Sam's head snapped to the side, reopening the scratches left from the daevas.

"Ah, ah now Sammy. Just because I need you in one piece, doesn't mean you can't withstand a little torture."

"Sammy's right, Dad." Dean added, straining to lift his head. "No matter what he does- don't give it to him."

Azazel's expression curled into a sneer as he strode across the rocky ground to stand over Dean's pinned body. He slowly brought his booted foot up before smashing it down on the helpless hunter's exposed wrist.

A scream broke out from between his tightly clamped lips before Dean could stop it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply- through his nose and out his mouth- trying to deal with the sudden pain of having his wrist crushed by a supernaturally strong foot.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. You should have just kept your mouth shut. See, _you_ I have no other use for."

Dean groaned in pain as an invisible something pressed steadily down on his lower ribs. Rocks and gravel flicked around as Sam kept trying to pull himself off the bolder, blood dripping steadily down his face. The demon grinned, looking around at the other Winchesters.

"Did you guys hear that? Snapped like a dry twig!" It turned back towards him with a toothy smile.

"Let's see how many bones I can break before daddy gives in."

Dean screamed.


	12. Part Twelve

Part Twelve

Harry's lungs protested loudly in the eerie silence of the forest. Rocks and gravel shifted under his feet, making it impossible to get a good enough footing to sprint up the hill.

The frantic hunter slipped and skidded across the ground, skinning out knees and palms that healed in seconds. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, like something trying to escape as his magic stirred restlessly, shooting random bouts of red and green sparks from the tip of the old, bloodstained wand in his hand.

The Elder Wand. The Death Stick.

With the Unbeatable Wand in his hand and his magic bubbling all Harry needed was the anger, the hate, to cast the one spell that was strong enough to destroy a soul, tainted or not.

Halfway up to the cliff top, he heard the screaming.

It sounded like someone was _dying_- no that was a stupid thought. Harry shook his head, trying to find some sort of calm under the constant hum of panic and fear and dread. His heart wanted to dash up the hillside and just throw himself at the demon; his head thought that was the most idiotic idea he'd ever had- and there had been quite a few idiotic ideas.

Coming up to the top of the cliff, Harry let his head take the lead and ducked into the trees. John looked to be unharmed, still pinned against the church like a bug. He kept yelling at the possessed priest who walked from Winchester to Winchester waving his arms like a conductor.

"The Winter Concert is going to be lovely this year! All together now!" It taunted and slashed one hand through the air towards Dean. The injured hunter arched against the ground, not pinned anymore as the demon tortured him.

Harry had never been able to feel the amount of anger and hate necessary to kill someone until that moment. Voldemort, Bellatrix, Snape neither of them made Harry's blood boil until the very air around him seemed to grow warm and heavy.

Azazel sighed and trudged back over to crouch beside Dean.

"Sounding a bit breathless there, champ." He gestured towards Sam. "Want me to bring in your replacement?"

Harry couldn't hear or see what Dean did but Sam cringed violently and yelled at John.

"Dad, do something!"

"No!" Dean's voice was wrecked as he tried to sit up, barely lifting his chest off the ground before the demon pushed him back down with a solid boot to the chest.

The injured hunter cried out and Harry _snapped_.

The trees exploded around Harry as he broke cover and raised the Unbeatable Wand, chest level.

"Harry!" Sam shouted in relief as Azazel took a step back from him. He opened his mouth just as the scent of blood and mud hit Harry's nose and the magic raging just under his skin blasted out of the wand.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Something loud and invisible rushed towards the demon as a flash of green light struck the priest in the exact same spot the rock salt had. This time the demon jerked and writhed in its host's body before a thick ring of black smoke began poured out of the man's mouth, flashing with the green of the curse.

The black rolling cloud didn't fly through the air like Meg had back in Hill City- it looked as though the curse was _eating_ away at the demon, the flashes of green growing brighter and more frequent until the cloud simply stopped and faded into the air.

John dropped to the ground with a thud, released from the demon's hold. Sam let out a loud sigh as his back and shoulders relaxed and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling towards his brother.

"Dean!"

Harry nearly dropped the wand, tripping over his own feet as he tried to reach the too-still hunter. The knees of his pants were rubbed ragged from the rocks as he slid to a halt beside Dean and the bloody mess the demon had left of him.

"Dean! Open your eyes man. It's over- it's finally over." Sam called softly, cradling a badly broken wrist in his lap. Harry pulled his bag over his shoulder and began digging through its never-ending contents. He tossed the wand back into the mess, his breaths sharp and panicky as he tried to get Sam to help him.

"You have your knife, Sam? I want you to cut off his shirt and help me stop the bleeding- Sam!" He said sternly when the youngest Winchester kept on cradling his brother's hand.

Sam snapped out of his daze and nodded, pulling a wicked looking butterfly knife out of his back pocket. The vintage Black Sabbath t-shirt was a tattered mess; Dean's chest was no better. Harry pulled vial full of something syrupy and dark red out of the bag and laid it down by his knee. Sam watched him with frantic eyes.

"What's that?"

The former wizard uncorked another vial- this one nearly over brimming with something purple and foul smelling.

"Wound-cleaning potion. I need you to hold him down for me, Sam. This will hurt."

The youngest Winchester looked like he didn't like the idea but nodded and put his hands down on Dean's shoulder's forcefully. Harry sighed and dumped the whole vial onto the unconscious hunter's chest, cringing as Dean arched his back and screamed.

The sound of a gun cocking startled everyone from their task. John stood with the Colt pointed at Harry's head, his eyes wild and unforgiving.

"Get the hell away from my boys."

"Dad!" Sam said angrily. "Harry's just trying to help."

"God damn it Sam, get your brother away from hi- what's wrong with him?!'

Dean's chest was smoking from the potion. Harry tried to ignore the gun pointed at his head as he wiped the purple and smoking potion off of Dean's chest with a clean t-shirt from his bag.

Blood oozed out from the wounds and the ex-wizard could feel every groove and bump of the ribs the yellow-eyed demon had broken. He handed Sam a jar of thick, yellow paste.

"Spread it over his bruises. Gently. I can't fix that arm without removing the bones and he'll need to get his ribs wrapped once we stop the bleeding."

Sam took the jar with a glare at his father.

"Sam!" John snapped angrily and Harry growled in frustration.

"I don't have time to explain, John. Dean will bleed out if I have to. Just trust me to save him." The former wizard said testily.

"What you did wasn't natural." John said slowly, like Harry didn't get it. "Hell, I saw you fall over the edge of that fucking cliff!"

"Cliff note's version, Dad- Harry's a wizard." Sam injected between the two of them, gently rubbing the paste into his brother's skin.

John's gun dropped slightly at the revelation, like being a wizard made more sense than Harry just randomly being able to kill demons with pointy sticks.

Actually, it kind of did.

The shorter hunter rolled his eyes at the thought and pulled out his last vial. Murtlap Essence. It looked surprisingly like apple juice as he poured it over the six vertical slices in Dean's chest.

John and Sam started as the skin began to grow and scar- there wasn't anything Harry has seen yet that healed skin blemish-free and Harry sat back, staring at Dean's face, willing him to wake up.

"Come on, Dean." He whispered, patting his cheek gently. "Now is not the time to be a complete girl. Wake up!"

Dean puffed out an annoyed breath of air into Harry's face and groaned, trying to curl his injured wrist against his broken ribs.

"Don't move!" Sam commanded, keeping a firm but gentle hand on his brother's arm.

Dean furrowed his brows at the order, turning away from Sam to blink his eyes open at Harry.

"You're alive." He rasped and Harry nodded, weak with relief.

"You really should know by now that there's very little in this world that will keep me down for long."

Dean rolled his head over to look at Sam, frowning at the blood stuck to his cheek and neck as he spoke. "Good. We need to have words soon. Important words. Soon. Where's Dad?"

John dropped to his knees, still confused and suspicious but relieved as Dean let Sam and Harry put him into sitting position. The sun was beginning to rise over the ocean, red, orange and beautiful. It hadn't been perfect; the priest was dead and Dean had nearly joined him but the demon was gone for good, they were all alive and Harry wondered if maybe, it hadn't been about revenge and avenging Lily and Mary and Jessica. Maybe it had been about saving everyone else.

* * *

*three weeks later*

"Jesus Christ Winchester!" Jimmy Jackson crowed at the sight of the '67 Chevy Impala slowly turning into his lot. Sam smiled at the unfamiliar man from behind the wheel as Dean glowered from the shotgun.

"You look like something the cat dragged in…after it ran you over with a semi."

Dean scowled. "If this is how you treat all your customers Jimmy I can take my business somewhere else."

The grease-covered mechanic held up his hands in mock surrender as the rag-tag group approached him. "Hey, now. Let's not get too hasty here."

Harry shook his head with a smile, deciding to interrupt before things got too far out of hand.

"We're here for my car?" he asked politely. "The Sunbird?"

Jimmy did a double-take and looked suddenly mournful. "Oh….I was hoping- well, come on back then. I'll show you what I did."

Sam and Dean waved him on, the older Winchester's cast peeking out from under the scarred leather jacket. Sam waited until Harry was far enough way that he wouldn't be overheard before nudging his brother with his elbow.

"Ow! Damn it, I'm still injured man."

The youngest hunter nodded towards the ex-wizard. "You talk to him yet?"

Dean's expression blanked but not before Sam saw the flash of fear in his eyes.

"Let it alone, Sam."

"You want me to just sit back and watch the two of you dance around each other again?" Sam asked, incredulous. "Dean, he wants to stay- he wouldn't still be here if the Demon was all he cared about."

"Well what are you still doing here?" The other man snapped. "The Demon's gone, Sam- the free ride awaits."

Bitchface number seventy-eight stared back at him. "I told you I'm not going back. What am I supposed to do- go change my major from Law to Parapsychology?"

Dean's smirk was a bit cruel. "I don't even know what you're saying-"

"Yes, you do." Sam said firmly. "You're not an idiot, Dean. Not even close. But if you can't see what's right in front of your eyes…"

"What?"

Sam shook his head. "Maybe you don't deserve it."

He walked away silently, _Jessica_ written in the droop of his shoulders as Dean watched him go.

"What's wrong with Sam?" Harry asked as he ambled across the blacktop of the lot, his hands stuffed deep into his front pockets. Dean shrugged his shoulders slowly, not wanting to move his healing ribs.

"Who the hell knows what's up with that kid?" He said with a sigh.

Harry looked back at Sam with concern, taking a step in his direction. "Do you want me to go talk to him?"

Dean shook his head, lifting his casted hand to rub at his face. Harry couldn't hold back a short laugh as the white plaster bopped Dean on the nose.

"Naw, Sammy's not happy unless he's fulfilled his quota of angst for the day. Tell me about what Jimmy did to your car."

The former wizard smiled as he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Dean; the two of them resting against the driver's side door. "I didn't understand a word he said to me but it sounded like he fixed it. "

"She runs?" He asked, picking at the tiny thread on the end of his cast. Harry smacked his fingers away, letting his own curl up around and link with Dean's.

"I tried the key myself."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy with dread.

"I guess you'll be wanting to hit the road now that you've got your wheels back." Dean said, staring out at the lot of cars, each in varying stages of broken.

Harry bit his lip and kicked at a small rock half-embedded in the pavement. "Well, not really." He admitted slyly. "I kind of put her up for sale."

The other hunter's head whipped around sharply, his eyes wide and surprised. He covered a pleased smile quickly. "You did, huh?"

"Yes."

"…..who'd even want to buy that thing?"

Outraged laughter tore itself from Harry's throat at the jibe as he punched Dean in the exact same place Sam had earlier. "For your information Jimmy was more than happy to take it off my hands!"

Dean shook his head, his face split by a grin. "So I guess you need a ride to where ever it is you're going?"

The laughter faded from Harry's face slowly as he looked up at him, honest and open. "I was hoping the back seat was still available."

"My back seat's _always_ available."

"_Dean_." Harry said sternly, waiting for an answer to more than one question.

Without hesitation Dean leaned down and kissed Harry firmly. Mouths closed, their lips were slightly dry but firm and warm as Dean kept it chaste but passionate and deep.

He pulled back with a small smack, one eyebrow quirking to the side in question. 'You in?'

Harry smiled, surging up to answer with another kiss.

There really was no need for words.

The End

* * *

THANKS FOR READING! *HUGS*


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